Like a broken saltine.
Impossible to get out of
The rug
And sofa.
Like the view of the ceiling when flipped upside down.
Where will we put our feet?
Like a broken clock’s stuttering minute hand.
Like wind.
Like a dream that I remember when near the water.
Watching the rapids and the flow of time.
A glimpse of what was something I never experienced
But still seem to know.
Like the faucet’s sparing drip.
Like the falling of leaves.
Like the sound
Of feet, leaving a room.
Like memory.
Like now
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