We were asked during a church group (don’t think I’m giving anything away here) whether we viewed time as a friend or enemy. Jotted this down, and liked it:

Neither.

Time’s a vessel ——>

Used well, it can hold my life

& give it form;

squandered, it constricts me.

It’s a tension, like trying to write

in verse, or pluck out a musical chord.

I’m an artist with time, & not

a particularly good one—

he says, arriving late to class—

But one who appreciates time’s form,

the lure of the past,

the glitter and anxiety of time to come,

& the possibility in now.