Writing

Sand runs down 
and into the chasms below. 

Gone.

If you could 
turn back time, 
you would go back to that day 
when she was playing 
in the pool. 

I-

I     wish-

I wish         I-

I wish I             was-

The clock is broken

It stopped ticking a long time ago

stopped counting how much time has passed.

It's an old grandfather clock, oak wood, and sculpted to perfection

carefully crafted by hands

that belonged to men

You’re pretty like sunshine and roses

But also like orchids in moonlight

Like water reflecting the sky

Like tired nights when the wind heaves a sigh

There are 

two roads

under the weight 

of war:

one paved in iron 

and blood,

brutality met 

leaves let go

each one a page ripped out of summer's book

each one a memory that hasn't been remembered since 1969

each one a fragment of what was 

why care? they say.