I love the way
rock
turns to gravel
in your hands.
....................................................................
When the present folds into itself, it
emulates a paper crane and flies away.
This day will fall--surrender to the dying.
All our wants, all our grasping, they unravel,
like a peel being pulled away by Time's
murderous claws:it's bloody mouth laughing,
devouring us and all our foolish ways whole.
You thought as I thought, that somehow we held
the clock. That we could stop and at our command,
Time would obey our mortal hearts.
But this present flies, and tomorrow comes--
with all the promise of a beautifully wrapped gift,
But inside, alas, an empty box.
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