On the beach, at dawn;
four small stones clearly
hugging each other.
How many kinds of love
might there be in the the world,
and how many formations might they make
And who am I ever
to imagine I could know
such a marvelous business?
~ Mary Oliver from "On the Beach" in SWAN: POEMS AND PROSE POEMS
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We are made of time. We are its feet and its voice. The feet of time walk in our shoes. Sooner or later, we all know, the winds of time will close the tracks. Passage of nothing, steps of no one. The voice of time tells of the voyage.