Change

 

 

 

Moving east to west

here to there,

 

simulacrum:

 

tide turns time

to fragments

 

sand through my fingers.

 

‘Things’ seemed

so precious

 

now laugh

at me.

 

Children grow

like weeds

 

laughter in the trees;

 

now time’s a dream

hung in this moment

 

of becoming.

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