Conversation with a while

I have tea to drink
and time to make
nothing go to waste
and turns to take
with making
things fit, and I
need to think
about escaping
with my face
to the wind.

Wouldn't see far past the earth,
I never looked at diamonds in
that much depth (they grew from
mud); crystal tadpoles that squirm
like the threads of thought behind your eyes.
There is not much surprise
in conversation with a while,

worth a wait and a confused smile.

I never saw the purpose of chaining a
ship to the sea, or why it anchors me;
the quiet in generous scoops,

sentimentally

measured by counting palm-loops.

I have more to gain
and plenty of training
in making no main
point,
and I need to think
about walking away
(while it's not raining)
with my heart not
joined.

AN: originally about time but it turned out to be a strange muddle (somehow involving the confusing issue of time).