ROPE OF SAND

Thin ice appears and disappears,

Hourglasses break and spill sand,

Every being is as fragile as light,

Succumbing to the night of things.

Even a figure cast in stone

Erodes in wind-blown sand and rain,

Falls and breaks an arm or leg,

Stumbling into the night of things.

Even a season’s leaves and seeds

Float away and travel upon air or water waves,

End their journeys upon old rot and decay,

Crumbling into the night of things.

Just as a rope of sand splashes on the floor,

Beside a broken glass, it is the present

That flickers in and out

Vanishing into the night of things.

©cmheuer, November, 2016