Letter to friends 5.23.17
The hours are like water that I cannot keep ahold of, slipping through my fingers, running away.
Poured on the ground, soaked by the earth, leaving just a damp mark to signify its’ presence.
My life, it is evaporating, transfigured into what I pour myself into. Am I grateful? Do I wonder at the dew, clouds and rain my time becomes?