Without Time

The wind skids across the plain
And chases tumbleweeds,
Who retreat from the wind's force

As if they were wireframes
Traveling with great haste
Towards an unknown destination.

The land they cross
Is the color of Summer honey
Until it intersects a vivid blue sky.

There, at the intersection
They collide with the horizon
And fade into the shadows of time.

A glorious golden sun
Watches the tumbleweeds tango,
But voices no opinion about life, nor about death.

For the golden sun knows
As the tumbleweeds do not
That beyond the horizon is another dance.

Forever then, tumbleweeds skate
Across the plains of tomorrow.

Without Time © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan