11 dimensions of time.

The time it takes to hang about for a bus
Pay for a ticket
Stand in a line
That’s one, two, three, dimensions of time

Then there’s the ache of waiting 
for the echo of a riff
At the end of a song
Or waiting for death like waiting for a woman/or a pie to arrive
That’s four, maybe five, dimensions of time

There’s the time to recover from a kick or a kiss
The time it takes for the steam to arise from a promise
But I think they’re the same
So six and seven
Are just times in hell - 
And times in heaven

Eight, nine, ten, sitting in the rain
Hoping for spring
As you taxi in a plane

The time of trying 
to find words to draw you 
from a lucid dream
To a page, a painting, a pedestal
Though again they’re the same as number seven 
(and maybe six)
So let’s call it eleven 
just to be quits

Then loveliest of them all there’s a dimension that falls
Beyond all recognition and only exists in relation - to you
It is the time of a cloud being whiter than blue
It is the time of unknowing of imperceptible growing
And feather penning unutterable rhymes
From the dumb struck tongue in the lock of your eye.