February 22, 2003
Time is on my mind (yes it is). The old shape-shifter, now fat and sleek and lazing about, reeking abundance, now thin, mangy and elusive, darting nervously around the corner out of sight. Sometimes I picture myself in the top of the hourglass, stomping the sand like a vat of grapes; sometimes I am on the bottom, jamming my finger upward to cork that impossibly slender neck. Occasionally, I manage to tip the glass globes and trail my Zen rake through the silky grains, quietly enjoying the designs until the contraption is righted again and gravity undoes all my waves.