Sands of Life
Mallory, I hope you find this someday.
The darker the night, the brighter the stars; the deeper the grief, the closer is God.
There's a clock on the wall, and it's made of sand.
It twirls for you in a powdery, rosy dress.
It touches you with a hand of dry desert air.
It blinds you to all of the world outside its cocoon.
It settles on you and runs gently down your arms.
It runs into your hair and caresses your scalp.
It moans for you when you're in the shower of dust.
There's a clock on the wall, and its shape is a hand.
It trickles down your bruised knee and torn scab.
It pushes under your nails and through your ears.
It stings as it whips against your body with rage.
There's a clock on the wall, and it's waiting alone.
It slips across your lips and nuzzles your tongue.
There's a clock on the wall, and it's ticking for you.
There's a clock on the wall, and it's almost...
There's sand on the ground.
Can you repair?