It's Still Life

The Leak

The calendar hangs:
boxes, numbers,
the fiction of order.

Minutes leak.

Not quickly.
That would be kindness.

Through sleep.
Through distraction.
Through the body’s small betrayals.

An afternoon lost in a chair.
A word gone missing at the stair.
Morning gone
before the kettle cools.

February: a sieve.
March: a colander.

To age
is to learn
you do not spend your hours.
You lose them.

You were never holding time.
You were the leak.

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Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.