It's my daughter I'm begging
When she interrupts me repeatedly
At intervals that seem well-timed
To yank me out of my work exactly
The moment when I begin
To pick up speed again. Concentration
Is a heap of leaves I rake together
And then she scatters everywhere.
But I don't want time from her, not her.
She is what all that time I've had before
Was for, if time can be for
Anything it's always against. I want speed,
Focus, fast swooping creation,
I want to trace a full, impossible
Ellipse in which I dive so low
The world spins startled over me,
Then soar so high I can't breathe. I
Want to startle time, to give her it for free.