Those minutes hours and seconds
ticking away into the ether of my mind
A canon through the fog
An anchor in the depths.
Clarity and melody and anchorage
In dissonant defiance of the foggy nothingness

The great depth of water
The rippled reflecting pool of the soul

Should time not be measured
in the breaths of air into the chest
Or footsteps down the shaded path
Or yet by the yellowing of pages on the bookshelves
petals of the flowers of recorded time

Time is not in the whirring of gears and moving of hands
It is a slow passing away
A stretching forward and backward
Shaded in fog
The formless mass bends and shifts
Like a warm undulating current

All of this I observe as I sink slowly into the depth
Falling softly like a leaf
and I release my final breath.