…to dust again

it’s really just
time: fast
swift and long

it is.

ask the river,
ask the sun in the sky,
ask human minds.

there is nothing
more than
the ticking clock

and the
haste of its
meaning.

never does
Gregorian become
gregarian.

and then
there is not.

there is a stone
and a box.

there is some
writing
on thinning
pages.

i wonder how
these rocks
gathered.

found their way
under my feet.

do they know
i stand fading
into sand
also, too?

and to dust again

time on
time,
on you.

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