To fight time, is to betray her.

To fight time, is to hold each moment

up to the light coming in from the window,
and to let each minute

dance for a while, on the tips

of our tongues; happy and slow.

But if it won't change much of anything;
and if she'll carry on and eat us
up whole, we'll have died
for something grand.
We'll have died for something much
unlike anything she will ever get to know.

e.campagna