Like a tidal pool time flows in waves,
too much to do, over the top, panic
at the waiting surge ready to desiccate
energy, stamina, willingness, ability
to tackle one of a swarm of tasks and do it
then turn to the next and next and next.
But as surely as high tide comes
the upsurge ends to be replaced by puddles
idle, quiet, the respite longed for
amid the maelstrom. One task awaits,
or two or three, ample time at hand.
But in the restfulness of the lull,
the pressing urgency a distant memory
those things be done no longer seem to pull.
When time lulls we fail to use it for the task
but turn to sleep, to sloth, to mañana.
Why rush? There’s time. Tomorrow is soon enough.
Hurry up. Or wait.