| | | I was looking through an hourglass, just the other day,
wondering if each grain of sand had a predestined sense
of when it should fall, as if each one were numbered.
I thought to myself, how does it know to run for exactly one hour,
and so decided to time it, just to make sure.
I watched each grain fall slowly, swirl and drawl, slipping
down the pinched neck into the catchment below,
thinking how it might never run out, how each piece could be
a piece of god, endless and infinite, forever there.
But run out it did. I checked my watch,
fifty eight minutes. |
|
|
