we are quite proud to balance our lives on fragility,
fast cars and bigger buildings, paper bills and ticking clocks;
we watch our stocks and hope they won't crash or we will,
knowing the best of who we are is caught up in that cool
tempestuous windmill: money, time, money, time.
the air blows out from that machine and mixes sand into our fingers.
we watch it slip right through, but we live like it's not going to,
love like we know what to, use time like we'll have enough.