Thinning

Time has thinned a little. But your words

still like the breeze shimmying in my hair,
grit from the grounds in the crooks of toes,
the planes of ankles sharp and bare
still vulnerable, breathtakingly spare.

 

 

Senses flicker and so the lights flicker too

nothing burns constant, honey-thick time
drops from fingers in solid amber strings
pools at feet making the long looped climb
thinning a little along the line.