I’ll Count A Few of the Sands of Time

Winter dark shuts tight
Across the causeway
That joins the town
And beach of the same name—
A narrow strip
Into the gulf.

Raining hard
Across the small balcony
And later on
the nice motel
Briefly blacked-out.

That was the end
Of somethings
And the start
Of others.
Beethoven blaring
From the satellite radio
On the wet drive
To admire
Beach houses
Then sitting in the parking lot
Drumming on the steering wheel
Waiting for the end.

A memory, not significant
In any
Particular way
Except perfect, preserved
Like a little glass bottle
Filled with sand
From an unvisited beach
Bought at a flea market
Labelled by an unseen hand.


About the Poet:
Miriam’s Sagan’s writing can be found on her blog: Miriam’s Well at http://miriamswell.wordpress.com. Her most recent book, A GEPGRAPHIC: Memoir of Time and Space from Casa de Snapdragon, was published 2016.


Photo by Piper.


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