The sand swirls the seconds in a gentle ash whirlwind

The sand swirls the seconds in a gentle ash whirlwind time blows its song upon the columns of a deaf temple the king of memories scatters his crown on dry sand the vassal of regret carries silences in sacks of heavy light each moment pulses in the palm like a glass fish I hear the future tremble under the eyelid of a washed sky grain by grain, the hourglass digs a path through me no one stops the flow, no one prays enough in the heart of the glass, a torrent murmurs silent litanies behold the burning gift: a torch that comforts no one I weave my steps from traces not yet born the desert in the soul sprouts buds of pastel golden illusion love waves a white flag between two gentle eclipses words collapse, leaving fine seeds of blazing dust time has no shoulders for anyone to ever cry on yet I look at it like an angel with filigree wings it calls me to walk on the thin bridge of empty nights I stumble over the past, clutch it in my pocket like a coin the future, a mute monarch, signs decrees with shadow ink and the present, a serene blind man, touches my cold cheeks under the eyelids, a gate opens to a circular desert there, the grains sing psalms I forget to the end through the flow of consciousness, a barefoot child of hope dances and in the end, everything sleeps under a bell of light