Through my fingers again

Like sand through my fingers, slipping, slipping,

I try to hold but can’t—thoughts scatter, scatter—

The wind grabs them, spinning, twisting, forgotten,

I remember something, no, wait—what was I—

Oh, the sun, too bright, too warm, it's pressing down,

Or is it the weight of time, ticking, ticking—

The clock on the wall, or was it my pulse?

Both drumming, always drumming, like footsteps I forgot,

Or a song, yes, a song—no, just a hum—

The hum in my head, beneath everything, constant, steady,

Until it’s not, and then—nothing.

Wait, a bird, black? Or was it blue?

Flashes past my window—like the thought I almost had,

But it’s gone, I can’t catch it, like water, no, not water—

Sand, yes, sand slipping, slipping,

Through my fingers again—