like Clypsedra, a water clock
made of nothing, but of weeping tears
it is measuring, clarity and conscientiousness,
of the self, and the other selves,
nurturing, absorbing,
all of it - what lays around it
what got placed in its face -
still, resolute, remaining vaguely distant,
in memories, in promises - & whatever else, that ever transpired.
voiding all events, gone past -
as present life’s embalming,
enshrouds its truthful & hurt bare inside
eventual destination - roughly in sight
risks (used as a verb) -
slowly chalking nothing but an unmarked blank future
through time’s hands,
the lighter and a clean walking spirit,
never stomps nor stumbles,
simply keeps up with the ‘time’.