We are grains of sand.

Marked within the glass.

A gathering of what’s behind,

out of reach, as one more grain

tumbles, brushing against

broken thoughts and lies

we turned into truth.  There are

doors we locked and clouds we

pointed at; road signs desperate

to advise.  Another grain of names

slips thorough, some forgotten

others still speaking.  Diamonds

and pennies all look the same.

Security is the cost of loneliness.

Friends resemble keys turning

locks.  It’s the end we can’t see.

Another grain falls.



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