Black Portals

It’s funny how time works.

The moon goes through phases

The same times each month

But to me

They skip around like a clock

On a magnet.

I’ll wake up, doze for an hour

And to me

It’s only been a minute.

Some days, I honestly believe

I’ve only lived for a few years.

My toddler days are myths

Told around tables,

My childhood was

Buried in clicking blocks

And forgotten fantasies

That return in spurts,

Like the ones

I’ve forgotten, but apparently

I’m as tall and old as I am now

Because of them.

Cut a tree, and count the rings.

Split a rock, and see the layers.

Even turtles who crawl can recall

The years patched across

Their back.

How do I measure those moments

Scattered like tokens across

Whatever vastness

They’ve become lost within.

How do I gain my years

If to me they’re lost between

My fingers?

Once, I was told that one

Could stick their heads through

A black disk in the sky

And pop their heads out

From the other side.

You could see what an

Eternity looked like

And only lose a moment.

But if I could travel

Through a portal as vast

As time,

How can I know I won’t

Lose my head along the way?

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