The day has slipped away,
or mostly so, as they often do
as if nature provided a hidden
grease that lets them out
of our grasp no matter
how hard we try and hold them.
It is little consolation, later
in life, that nights demonstrate
and equal unwillingness
to remain very long, as if
our dreams must be hurried
as are our days and nights.
Sitting on the cushion, staring
at the wall, my back notes
that time, the time until
the zazen end bell, seems
once again to have frozen.