No title

Along the way things seemed to occur
but now when things happen they do so in silence

the long hand encroached upon the short hand
but never could it pass as the short hand was damaged
during the war of words

without time to measure themselves by
they were without memory

without memory all trace of familiarity was given to the wind
of course the wind died and the traces left draped over trees
did no good

the gardener tending to its growth
was well rewarded in the ensuing weeks
and then again, in the afterlife