It took the
ancient yellow papyrus
and crumbled it into dust
costing us
the knowledge of
less familiar ages.

It erases
all the old angles
of ancient angels
that were painted
in sainted style
on chapel ceilings.

It saw small framed
dancing beauties
that grew up
and rounded out
shrivel
back in
bringing
sad tidings
of losses
soon to come,

and in the midst
of this movement,
no more tragic
for the transient
nature of all of it,

I let it linger,
just a little longer
as the last sandy bits
slip
from my fingertips;

See it fade
in the distant.
Until, it comes
to take me as well.