If you were coming in the fall
I’d brush the summer by with half a smile and half a spurn
As housewives do a fly

If I could see you in a year
I’d wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate drawers for fear
The numbers fuse

If only centuries delayed I’d count them on my hand
Subtracting till my fingers dropped into van Diemen’s land

If certain when this life was out that’s yours and mine should be I would toss it yonder like a rind and take eternity

But now uncertain of the length of this that is between it goads me like the Goblin Bee

that will not state its sting