Time passes like sand through a sieve,

And I know not where it ends,

Nor where it begins.


It passes me by, 

No matter how hard I try

To grasp it. 


It escapes me,

One year, then three,

Noticed only in the growth 

Of small children and trees.


Time leaves me,

All alone,

Choking on grains,

Deteriorating my bones.


And I don’t know

What to do.

There is no net,

Trying’s no good.


So I wait,


And wait,


And wait,


And wait.



’Til I align

With Time

In opportunity

Or demise —

To know for sure where I stand,

On grounded floor,

Or in slippery sand.






Submitted: October 22, 2020

© Copyright 2022 brenda covarrubias. All rights reserved.

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