A dream of the “Penny Falls”: a heap of days
as pennies, life’s small change, and a mechanical
shelf nudging them untiringly towards the drop –
but so slightly, you know they’ll hardly fall.
That’s how time was when I was young:
a negligible pressure. I’d wake each day
to find my heap of time as good as undiminished.
So how did I miss the niagara-cascade?
The thing’s rigged, or I’ve been dreaming –
the heap of little days much smaller now,
but my pockets nearly empty, and no-one here,
and the sea so high and dark outside.