When Time Came Looking

 When Time Came Looking

At first,

Time was annoyed.

Everything
had its place.

Mountains.

Stars.

The rise
and fall
of kingdoms.

Even grief
kept a schedule.

But not Katya.

She had slipped
between the seconds
so often
that her footprints
no longer agreed
with one another.

Time searched
the obvious places.

Yesterday.

Tomorrow.

The afternoon
she first opened
her amber eyes.

The evening
she became silver.

Nothing.

Only the faint scent
of rain
and cedar.

So Time
did what it had never done.

It slowed.

It wandered.

It began asking questions.

An old woman
feeding sparrows
remembered
a silver cat
who stayed

until she laughed again.

A fisherman
remembered
sharing tea
with a wooden master
and a cat
who knew
where the fish
would be tomorrow.

A little boy
remembered
finding courage
because something
soft
had leaned
against his leg
when no one else
believed him.

Time gathered
their stories.

None of them
were important enough
for history.

Together,

they outweighed

an empire.

Finally,

Time found Tiki
mending a net
beside impossible water.

"Where is she?"

asked Time.

Tiki smiled
without surprise.

"You are asking
the wrong question."

"What should I ask?"

"Ask
what she became."

Time waited.

Tiki tied
one more knot.

"She became
a place."

"A place?"

"A refuge.

Whenever a soul
believes
it has reached
the end
of kindness,

it stumbles

into her."

Time looked
across the water.

"I cannot see her."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because
you only measure
what passes.

Katya
became
what remains."

Time had no answer.

It had measured
the age
of stars,

the heartbeat
of atoms,

the slow dance
of galaxies.

Yet it had never learned
how to measure
a single act
of undeserved mercy.

Then,
for the first time
since the beginning,

Time
removed its shoes.

It sat
beside Tiki.

They fished
until dawn.

Not for moments.

For hope.

And somewhere
beyond calendars,

beyond prophecy,

beyond every clock
that had ever chimed,

a silver cat
slept beneath
a moonlit tree,

dreaming
of someone
she might help
tomorrow—

though tomorrow
would never again
be able
to catch her.