Hourglass by Jon Calucag

Along the street I walk and wait,

along the sidewalk staring.

I catch the breeze in an empty hand

and let it go uncaring.

I feel the currents rush and rise,

the children collide head on.

Their unhindered movement shatters the glass

and act as if nothing is gone.

The wind watches me and I gaze back,

glaring straight into its eyes.

I hear his cries and her sorrowed replies

and I wait once more as the living breeze dies.

Along the street I sit and look,

along the sidewalk grinning.

I hold the breeze in an open palm

and feel the warm air almost gone.

And now I remain on the stolid block,

as dust fills the weary clock.