Initials carved in wet concrete, worn smooth by the passage of passing feet.
Time passes, yet those indelible figures remain; through burning sun and falling rain.
Steps pass over weary stone, ankles click and muscles groan.
I am not immune to the passing of time. Each step is mine; each second mine.
Each crack in concrete marks the time and old carved initials become a sign…
Of things we’ve lost and days enshrined.
By faded photographs, our lives unwind.
Like broken cuckoo clocks.
Michael Scott Hand 