Keeping Time

Keeping Time

The rocks don’t move, the water moves.  Eventually the rock gives way, moves.  Its a race. I don’t know who is winning or whether I am the water or the rock.  I feel like I am unmoored.  The tides flow with unquestioning purpose.  I don’t.  The rock are decided.  I’m not.  I feel more like the fog flowing over the rocks and the water, at the mercy of the wind, the water, the rock: generalized and thin.

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