Waiting
A poem. "...a leafshoot only unfurls unwatched."
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A watched pot never boils, they say,
and a leafshoot only unfurls unwatched.
Though you stare, willful, glaring,
the nail-spot, patch from a pinch,
snails across the keratin to its end,
only vanishing after patience has forgot
what it was waiting for.
This is well-known, well-felt, and yet
a stickler, trying, timing
will pompously protest (we’re all
him sometimes, be honest)
his methodical trials, so scientific,
claim otherwise.
Time never wavers,
never ripples like water or gusts
like wind.
It is only perception shifting,
capricious,
unruly,
even as we
daily lean on it. You may admit defeat,
until a fuzzy, Einsteinian flicker
says, wait…
black holes?
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