And the gravity was of another land,
another culture, another time.
Things we brought with: our past.
Things we can’t keep: anything.
Taking and giving chips at a time,
plumes of dust,
or sand in an hourglass.
Being ground down to smooth,
to thin, the purpose to prove,
with time; there is nothing taken
that is not given back.
These are facts.
Sitting at a table where once other
elbows rested, where once other thoughts
stirred, once out a window bright sun blur,
these buildings still once stood, as
they do now- and again.
Somehow, someway, here now today,
but can I take this away?
It is right here, right now. That’s all.