Ephemera on the Walls of Time (prose)

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?

No.

It is right here, right now. That’s all.

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