Uncounted

All the beans of tick-tock time
have gone for soup now;
all the counters have taken
early retirement.

All the portioned moments
have clanged in the can
as if time was a rattle of things
and not a river.

Water under all its bridges
runs unatomised to the sea,
flowing waves over stone,
all it’s eddying uncounted.

© BH, 2024

---

National Poetry Day 2024 came and went. I wrote this a day late. I thought, ‘Who’s counting…’ I wrote it on the morning of the 4th over a long cup of tea in the Moray Sports Centre.

As you do…