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Feb 2015
The hourglass sits on my desk.
I glare into the fragile globe.  My 4-year-old self builds a giant sandcastle as the bright sun glimmers on the hot sand below my feet.  I blink.  I pause and see how much sand has fell.  As the sand falls it piles onto itself one grain at a time.  What is it building now? Is the sand building or letting go?
Written by
Calhoun Poetry
989
   hushhush and Azaria
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