In a large ceramic bowl,
preferably one that belonged
to your grandmother,
cream one half pound of softened
eons with a cup and three quarters
of finely granulated nanoseconds.
Set the mixture aside.
Sift days, weeks, and months
into a smaller bowl.
In the smallest bowl,
place your fluids: the years.
Add one teaspoon of vanilla
and one of orange or lemon zest.
Add whatever childhood memories
you have handy in the cupboard.
(Memories from your teen years
can add heft. But don’t overdo it.
You want your time light and airy,
not weighted down by teen angst.)
Alternate adding the dry days
and the wet years to the creamed eons
that have been waiting patiently for you
throughout the middle of your life.
Mix vigorously. Then pour your time
into a greased and floured bundt pan.
Bake in an oven hotter than the sun,
smaller than a bread box.
Baking times will vary.
A toothpick or sharp knife inserted
in the center of time should come out clean.
For best results,
do absolutely nothing but breathe;
be nothing, but kind. Then,
time will make itself. The past
and the future will drop away
and there will be only now.
And you will have more
than enough to savor
forever and ever.