Time is always
slipping though our fingers
or swirling past our ankles,
wearing our edges smooth
and dissolving
things we know
into
things we don’t.
Time is water.
We are all awash.
And though we try
to soak ourselves within it
like a sponge,
holding tight and full
to every moment that we have,
eventually
the world will
wring the minutes out of us,
drop by drop,
until we are bone dry
and all our time has spilled
into the dirt
and
is gone.
But that is as it should be.
Time is never ours to keep;
we only get to swim through it
for so long as we can hold our breath.
