Sunday, April 15, 2007

Like sand dunes

In the ballroom of the Berkeley Carteret
Dimly lit and sweet with decay
Like nostalgia borrowed
And then made mine
In an antique city on the shore
I was given a plastic flower

And when I read the news today
And saw my building had been sold
I was not sad or made resentful
I only wondered
If in old age
That clock measure would have a place

In those moments remembered
After you’ve forgotten your manners
And the names of your teachers

Or if it would wash away
With all those things
To wherever those things wash away to

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