time is no way to measure a life
like quantifying love in cups
and happiness in liters…
without the proper conversions
the numbers just won’t add up
and you can’t level off affections
twenty…then twenty-two
twenty-seven…or twenty-nine
years go by before you notice
the gauges that define
your capacity to live
most markers progress in parallel
and when looking back from too far ahead
the memories never mix together
with quite the same sentimental sway
as real time moments experienced
pause to consider
do you know the eyes of those you love?
not just the color, but their shape
the curve of the outlining lash;
when did you first exhale freely?
how many digits represent your moments of significance?
has your capacity for
disappointment, suffering and rejection,
finally balanced with that of
pleasure, tolerance and fulfillment?
life -being in the moment-
translates to so much more
than minutes and years,
pints or pounds
its never worrying about spilling over