On telling our time together
  
Against what cosmic calculus may we tally the time we took
or mark the depths we plumbed in psychic waters we went?
 
What whirring wheels of clocks or plottings of planets,
what patterns of waking and sleep, eating and bathing
can measure the stretch of ventures, involutions,
our love making made?
 
Can we time it with the tingle of our skins
that carry within the tacit echoes of touch?
Or the beat in the dance of our hearts'
give and take, follow and lead?
Or with our cell-made-music,
its strains coursing in our veins?
 
We find it not in what we did,
or even time's doing we let be done to us,
but being, being, being,
present, present, present,
to our attuned attending selves.