My hourglass heart

breaks

each day

with each grain

of sand –

a grief,

a fear,

a pain —

that sifts through

that narrow

passage,

scours its way —

down,

down, and

down.

A small drift

of bruises

collects.

Invert the glass –

me,

my heart –

and shoosh,

the process starts

again.

One chamber

empties,

the other fills;

a cycle

unabating.

 

— C.Birde, 2/6/19