Somewhere
a clock stumbles through time,
a sheet of sun sleeps in a cicada’s shell,
a breeze rustles the missing wing of a dead fly,
a bee drinks the tear of a crooked honeysuckle,
a yellowed leaf garnishes a patch of singed grass.
Somewhere
a memory is born in the death of a father,
one thinks this seeing an empty chair,
it lives in a pair of glasses,
sits on a plate left in the cupboard,
or in a photo that has stopped ticking.
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