Passing of Time by Keana Águila Labra

i. I haven’t forgotten,
though it does slip through
my fingers, thick mist
(then my last directed
sense of determination
missed, misfiring neurons
and a disconnect from
my surroundings)

ii. I haven’t forgotten,
though it does grow paler,
photograph against a harsh
sun, dangling from a wire,
a clothespin take on life
(reality is much less picturesque)

*Previously published in Rose Quartz Magazine

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