A Mirror is Sand and Water As
One
grain drops.
Time begins,
or keeps going—
it’s hard to tell which.
Necks pinch into purpose.
Pressure makes the moment's weight—
its glass throat narrows in, knowing:
the longer it holds, the less it means.
We reflect shapes only edges can name.
We reflect edges only shapes can name.
The longer it holds, the less it means—
its glass throat narrows in, knowing
pressure makes the moment's weight.
Necks pinch into purpose.
It’s hard to tell which.
It keeps going—
time begins.
Grains drop.
One.
One
eye blinks.
You were here—
then you weren’t. Dust
settles in the bowl
of what we almost kept.
Hands can learn from repeating.
As they grow, smoother, more resigned,
an hourglass flips with no permission.
No one votes on the descent of return.
No one votes on the return of descent.
An hourglass with no permission flips.
It just grows smoother, more resigned.
My hands learn from the repeat,
of what I almost keep,
settled in the bowl—
you are now dust.
You aren't here.
Eye blinks.
One.
Copyright © Jaymee Thomas | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment