Grains

The clock chimes hour upon hour,
and I drift into the sands, time
greets me with a kiss. Eclipsing,
I suffer. A space, I inhale, buried
among the ruble. Left with nothing,
blank. Leave, I am pure, itching
to hum the grains of life. Too late,
mauled by the naïve.

Deidre Grotbo