glass cracks, sand spills

The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer

we should see through it

And yet clarity eludes us, glass scraped by sand grains,

or etched thin by time’s passage

Or is the glass glasses, and the hour passing the life we ought to be leading?

Can one see through another’s hour? Time winds down, wraps up

We all inch inexorably closer to doom and yet

None of this feels real at all. Not the doom

not the glass nor the grains of sand elapsing within,

all feel more metaphor than actuality, unlike

keys typing these words, the numbers on the clock

digitally changing, moving further and further along the timeline.

Time ekes its way along regardless of measuring system.

Sea glass has worn smooth

rough edges of the broken hourglass metaphor, smashed amidst the frustration with time.