Surreality in the Sands of Time
by Michael Escoubas

Why is it that
we poets have no imagination
when writing about the sea
and sand and twilight
and the slipping away of time
as particles fall
agonizingly, predictably
from one side to the other?

Why not paint a red sky
with yellow streaks
splitting the firmament
with multiple blueish shades
and shadowy turquoise tints
and why not have the hourglass
sitting on top of a rugged rock
jutting out of raging water
and the hourglass glowing
with a crooked smile half-drunk
like a sailor just home from the sea.

Yes, let’s toss in a little imagination,
as the sands in the hourglass of time
do exactly what they have always done …
why not dress them up a little,
since we are all particles in the hourglass of time.



 

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