Traces

Standard

The loose change

from the time I’ve spent,

often falls out of my pocket —

landing on the sidewalk,

slipping between the cracks.

The things I’ve said,

for real or in jest,

left behind their residue,

whether I recall or not.

Those moments never left,

but for one reason or another,

didn’t stick with me.

Do we know

how much of our live’s,

fall down the memory hole?

Consult the hourglass.

I have to ask,

can I take some sand back?

Every spare moment

sloughed-off and discarded,

like old clothes,

like dust.

Where does the time go?

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