Decades Drift

Last year, time ended in a waterfall: it crashed into yet another abyss, desperate to grab onto an intangible hope for air. Last year, time ended like a sunset: known and predictable, a Godly sphere looping. Omnipotent. Last year, time ended beside a snowman: a melting smile of understanding, a misplaced coal tooth, carrot nose bent against the inevitable heats of Spring. Calendar pages fold like a lightbulb’s flash, and watches tick like a child’s attention; decades drift like flotsam lost, waving, and jetsam surveying, searching, for a cork to stop the ages from passing again through fingers wrinkling.