Fleeting

___

One foot in front of the other;

there's isn't such thing as turning back

it's grey and it's hard to see if you turn your head 'round;

even if you squint, the details are blurry and you can't make out much

and even if you could see it, crystal clear,

like it was right before you, or in your hands,

or wrapped around your waist

or sitting across from you like things do

it wouldn't matter much

because the very things that once were

no longer are;

they've drifted

rearranged,
shifted,

and the memories are nothing but
limp, boneless fragments
of thoughts and feelings past
floating,
fleeting.

___