A Poem for December

So far behind the march, that when you arrive the war is over
OR
Still in the womb, this is all a dream


We seem to scurry down the rabbit hole
with underarm ponderings and mudslide tendencies
And then we stop and rejuvenate, for a moment, or nine
Something flickers beyond the trees, just to the left of that wintry setting sun
A chord or a roar, depending on your state
or perhaps the color of your soul
You recognize Time, in its Valentine red Ferrari
but just barely, as it exceeds all known speed limits and safety parameters
As it blazes out of sight, you think you hear it laughing
And you're back from a free-fall trip into the past and present and future of yourself
standing in some leaves but it was summer when you left
That was moments ago? How did I get here?
You are still you, but the world has rallied onward
Seems you're always lagging behind, lost in daydreams and,
getting caught up in those flickers of something special
just to the left of the wintry setting sun
The trees know what you feel
They've seen you through all these journeys
You may not believe it, but they feel badly that they cannot help you,
empathize and ease your troubled being.
And now you shake your head, to clear the glaze from your sight
and find the snow is easing downward, a shredded pillow in the sky
collecting and rejuvenating, reconvening at your feet
soon all the world is soothed in this white comfort
and you're still wearing shorts.
You'd better head back now,
We only have but a short while here,
Somewhere Time is laughing
and speeding.