is a second,
a quick glance,
an assurance,
I am a presence on earth.

As a measurement,
time grows.
A minute,
an hour,
a day, week, month,
a year.

I section my day
morning, afternoon, evening.
And immeasurable time:

preparing a holiday meal,
dressing for a special date,
sharing a story,
writing a poem.

When traveling,
I yearn to see as much as possible,
visit with everyone,
as if I will never return.
The need to not waste time.

My diagnosis slows time.
Strangers,
new thoughts,
feelings,
and emotions,
brought into my schedule of time.

is a second,
a quick glance,
an assurance,
I am a presence on earth.

As a measurement,
time grows.
A minute,
an hour,
a day, week, month,
a year.

I section my day
morning, afternoon, evening.
And immeasurable time:

preparing a holiday meal,
dressing for a special date,
sharing a story,
writing a poem.

When traveling,
I yearn to see as much as possible,
visit with everyone,
as if I will never return.
The need to not waste time.

My diagnosis slows time.
Strangers,
new thoughts,
feelings,
and emotions,
brought into my schedule of time.

Appointments and treatments,
moments of tears and fears
intrude,
my section of days
loses its significance.

Midnight,
unwelcomed time,
carries me into the possibility
of good health,
or death,
as everyone else sleeps.

I discover
time is a passage
birthdays,
graduations,
simple family events,
are moments without need of celebration.
And new methods
of spending time.

I recognize
I am on this earth
only a lifetime.

A minute
measured into hours,
disciplined
by medication and therapy.
Time for a moment of peace,
disappearing with my last breath.