collecting in invisible piles discarded
newspaper frail words slip unnoticed
into grooves of the floor it's hard
to distinguish good years from
bad they all shed themselves
and leave the course skin of
irreversible time behind if
I sift through them the years
my years like flipping through
aged paperbacks at the flea
market I can surely seize the
ones I don't remember but
do remember they bear
a tag of significance but
you can't hold in your
lap something that has already
evaporated time pours itself
out thick and sweet like honey
dissolving what it can as it goes
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