I broke free. I tore the binds of time. I shattered the hour glass into a thousand pieces and scooped up a handful of sand. Millions of grains running slowly through my fingers. As if I’d reached into the sky and plucked out stars. Yes. So many grains of stars, slipping so quickly away. And I could control how quickly they ran by. I went forward, to a time when I was old, looking back at the young man I am now. Marveling at my potential. Wondering where it all went wrong. How did I miss the opportunities that seem so easy to grab hold of in retrospect? I saw me. Standing there. Wind in my hair. My arms outstretched. Trying desperately to make the shadows of my arms look like wings, so maybe my shadow could learn to fly. My eyes closed. And it began to come together. One word finding the next like they’d always belonged to each other.
The feeling of the world whipping by. It made me want to laugh or maybe just to cry. And then I came back. Aware of the things I’d know when I was ninety three. Wondering at the wonder of me. Old crippled hands and eyes that could barely see. And, like that winged shadow in the wind, somewhat free. The arc of the story line of my youth blurring the lines between fiction and truth. As if there is such a thing. A difference between fact and what someday could be. And I learned potential. And potential energy. And the shot from a bullet racing forward in space to finally see just what it is I’m supposed to be.
A poet perhaps. With words running from my cup in a steady stream of red wine. Traveling upwards, breaking the laws of gravity and flowing back into the bottle. Then corked and returned to the wine cellar of my mind. Then uncrushed, unplucked and carefully placed back upon the vine.
The sands in my hands are planets now and suddenly they all have aligned. And with it I find my self defined. In an old mans wrinkles, so stately across the brow that rests comfortably now over two hazel green eyes that are somewhat blind. And then back once again to me in the wind. Looking for love. Looking for something that is out there. Caught in the haze that made the sun a brilliant orange today. Caught in the smoke in my lungs, like words I’m holding in, as I fight what I really want to say.
And what is it? What is that thing just down the lane, in the house on the right, breathing clouds from its mouth upon the window pane? It is my hope of love in a time that is covered with frost. A bartering for a something at too great a cost. It is two mouths connected and singing in perfect harmony. Moving up and down together, all tongues and lips, and teeth that fit so seamlessly. The most beautiful music hid in the lyrics they say with no words, or music, or rhythm, or rhyme. Only the thump of there hearts is keeping the time. And they will sing this song for me. This song that says we shall be free.
We shall be free.
In love we’ll live.
In love we’ll die.
In love we shall be free.
  ¶ 2:33 PM