Lives Lace Times

On the bridge
Where she took
Pics long years

Since, the same
Man that had
Watched her then

And took pics
Waits now while
Their kid swims.

If Not

What is time if not a void to fill?

Asks a poet marooned

In an anthology

Of best Canadian

Poetry recently.

Interesting question,

Starting from the given—

Time, for starters, as not

A void available

To fill, void for filling.

The more usual trope

Is that time’s a substance,

A measure or resource,

A one-way bank account

That can be drawn down but

Never be replenished.

Of course, it’s not a void

Here either. Let’s not take

It rhetorically—

So, what is time, if not

A void for you to fill?

A lonely word, a slough

Poets wander into

Who confuse abstraction

With existential depth,

A cultural construct,

A system of measures,

A rhythmic kind of change,

Something to talk about

In an award-winning

Contemporary poem.