I Lie Down on the Strings of the Lyre

There’s no start time,
No time to quit.
Times are for clocks
And things that need

To sync. Poems don’t
Need to sync. Some
Do, sure. Some do;
Some don’t. This won’t.

This one’s a wave
In a long seiche
Of waves like it,
Or not so like.

No. No word starts.
You can’t find it,
When it was first
Said, when it quit.