Marking time with mechanicals
is an exercise in the superfluous.
River rocks know etchings of real time,
wind and water wearing away
anything from yesterday.

I like to stand on the hill
with the wind sweeping
along my body, through my hair,
imagining my yesterday
worn away.

Things change rapidly
while I stand still
and let the wind
take the worry of time
somewhere else.

2 thoughts on “Windswept

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