These realities
certain wild moment
creating a memory
imagined in a few years
savoured as much
connected back to the day
in your hand each moment as marbles
Such a child you grasp them and marvel
The sweaty little hand holds on tight
one by one they fall out each loss intensely bland
pick it up clean it once put it back into the hot hand
A piece of you unwilling to part from them
You see the past a basket of these small glass balls
Each one reflecting how the light so beautifully falls
evoking a feeling marked at a different point in reds and blues
Deepening your world made mundane by curtains boycotts and taboos
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