I come to the beach
Seeking sand for my hour glass,
Time slipping away,
Like a doomsayer
Predicting the end of eternity,
Tea leaves and portends
All stirred up inside me
Like a witch’s brew
A sense of change
As the grains
Slip through my fingers,
No matter how tightly
I grip, or perhaps
Because I grip too hard,
To buy back days of joy
I don’t deserve,
The universe altered,
Upended
Recreated
Into something else,
Something in which
I do not fit,
Gripping the memory of it
Even as I think
She forgets.
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