World Enough, and Time
by Mary Alexandra Agner
Give me the time, I've world enough
in my imagination. Give me the clock
so I may drink its seconds down,
metabolize, regurgitate, reverse,
collect the causal innards,
string them out on fishing line
as bait, reel in the chrono-coelecanth
and breed them into ache and majesty,
moments when inspiration has its way
with me, deathbed vigil minutes longer
so no regret remains unsaid,
first time in love, in lust, on the window ledge,
over and over, new each time.
Repeat, re-lust, re-linger.
What herb can purge the pulse from me,
the high arc of the pendulum
that all my life has pounded in my blood?
Copper mechanicals or monolithic stones
or calendars of feathers and of fear:
they all will sound upon my final hour.