Time
gathered and heaped behind glass. Gravity was pressing down on the pile,
driving the future through the tapered present.
Tiny grains of now. I try and clinch one in my sight, but it is too swift.
Rapidly supplanted by another impelled from above. And then
another. I can’t fix on any of these fleeting instants as they drop on to the
mound of the past beneath. Whereupon they become swallowed and buried and I
spend a lifetime trying to disinter any one lost moment. The future chamber is
empty. Inverting the hourglass I recommence
the ungraspable passage of time.
