How long?

That gypsy knows to wipe away

the water from her eyes

and push aside emotion

that caused it so to rise.

And for a time, just a time,

she watches how it moves

not quick and speedy like a fox

but slowly like a snail.

She felt the chill of time

run up and down her spine

and thought perhaps a second

or a minute at the most.

But human time deceptive

and so she thought a day,

perhaps a week, a month,

or a year at the most.   

It matters not, you know,

because gypsies know to push

and push and push again

until emotion disappears.

But too they grow weak and frail

with no strength to make emotion move

and of the tears that pool in eyes

they find their way somehow

into the deep and hidden

there to lie and contemplate

how long, really, really,

is that thing called “time”.