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.
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