Collecting Years

Freckle nosed girls

borrow sand-whittled shells

into shoe boxes,

place them along high shelves,

their tippy-toe reached

treasure trove of trinkets,

well chosen selections each,

filed memorials to

a collection of years

that gather like cloth

folding over itself.

Spindly legged boys

with peach fuzz shadow

covet magazines,

stacking an array

of borrowed success

in folds of shiny paper,

albums of counted days,

mirrors of plundered fire

against

liquid metal frames.

Drawers are stuffed with cotton

and cupboards china lined.

Overage flows into bins

in narrow tall rows.

Merit earns an assembly

of possession,

minutes per pound,

each strand of hair in gold

equal its worth in inches,

a well crafted, cushioned surround

of forgetfulness and plenty.

Our ability to gather rock

into pyramids, wood into towers;

our finite standing stones.

As our sand dwindles

each conquered device

is set in turn adrift,

back to its own

wandering dormancy.

We shed each collected garment,

leaving a trail in our wake

of empty spent boxes-

dismissed their silent duty

to hold our reflections.

Undone souls are collected

neatly back inside flesh

and set to drift naked

into the same salt

sea from which we came,

sand running swift

on the shore

through a little girl's

waiting fingertips.