The Myth of Time

One day we will look back to those days
Iced tea in our hands;
something to cool our veins as our blood races home.
One day we will look back,
nothing in our palms but webbed lines that point home,
but home is empty and the chickens didn’t come home to roost,
the hearth is cold and the ashes were blown west,
the sun didn’t rise or set,
it settled at the top and melted all wax figurines that were frozen by time.
One day we will look back home and home will be hollow like our hearts.
We will close our eyes and run a finger along the webbed compass that points home,
trying to find where all the ashes blew,
where all the chickens went,
where to unstuck the sun,
and so close we will come to turning the wheel back;
First days then weeks,
we will run with the wheel when it runs back years then decades,
to that shore with the papyrus reeds,
where we forged home and love.

We won’t find it.

It was there,
we won’t find it.

One day I will pass you on the street,
I will swear your finger glazed mine and when I looked up, it wasn’t you.

You didn’t remember me.

The ashes will settle,
the sun will finally see west,
the wax will be long melted,
like the papyrus shore you and I loved,
and you and I,
we will look back
Only my mind is the museum for the lore of our love,
and your mind is what made it a myth.


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