Sands of Time

[Vellum]

Memory like a small sand dune cupped between two hands
A moment of your life becoming moth eaten and frayed at the edges.
The more you try to preserve it, the more falls to the floorboards beneath you,
Forgotten and whisked away on a breeze. The grains still exist, but never again in the manner in which you remember clutching to your breast protectively as if the golden mountain held between the lined and lived in palms of your hands is a newborn babe. Not gone, just changed. Not for better, not for worse, no conitation connected to the hourglass created by the granules falling from a workers hands