Alternative Ways to Spend 6400 Hours

Often I find myself grieving

the six thousand four hundred hours

lost to sterile bed sheets

laced in saline drips

and salty tears.

I used to count passing moments

in heartbeats:

one hundred fifty million

lost to the choir of monitors;

My heart:

the metronome,

the occasional drum roll.

I can't help but grieve

The twenty three million

 precious moments

lost to the white wash of my despair

when in that time

I could have awoken with the sun

227 times

and watched it set

226

until I could etch

the constellations

to bring light to the empty caverns of my soul.

I could swim through galaxies

landing on the moon 30 times

or mars just once

and still make it home for the sun

to permeate my pores.

 

If what I needed

was an escape

I could have driven

across the country

140 times

though once

would be just enough

so twice

I could wander the entirety

of the Pacific Crest.

I could get lost

in the breath,

my steps

in time with the bray

of the Earth's own

beating heart.

We are all running

to the metronome of our soul;

perhaps it's time we walked

or better yet

stopped completely.

In six thousand four hundred hours

I have learned

moving too fast

will leave the heart an ice box;

I could have knit for you

160 woolen blankets;

while they may make you sweat

you will never feel warm

In six thousand four hundred hours

I could have shared the warmth

of 25 million embraces;

25 million times

to hold

and be held,

to give

and receive.

 

I have learned from the trees

the virtue

of reciprocity;

from the ebbing waves:

repetition is not failure.

I could read this poem

400,000 times

if given another

six thousand four hundred hours

but perhaps just

once each day

will suffice

so my soul may be filled

by my wanderlust

by my slow motion steps

and the metronome

of 150 million more

heartbeats

to carry me home

to myself.