Time has, as we know, a relative flow.

Not rock steady,

it eddies. 

It’s tributaries tangling,

and we stand angling

for the ones that got away,

the elusive minnow minutes

darting and starting

to snap in my fingers 

as I grasp and clasp them

And hold them close to.

Watch out, they can crumble!

watch out and watch it

hands crawl round the figures

dance over the ticks

and I slide my day away

watching the sweep

of big hand and little hand

and quietly weep.




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