It exists only in a shop in West Texas

(I changed the location to protect the innocent)

(I won’t change much else)

Knowing the item for purchase would bring little value to my life

As I stand in the gift shop

With some girl whose family I feel closer to

Than her

Even then, an understanding that belonging does not mean becoming

My hand catches an hourglass

Beautiful sand poured

Multiple colors racing towards

A tiny juncture

Which aligns the grains

 

No holes in this glass

And what of the sand

How can you count on something if you do not know the number

Pouring constantly, pouring without any doubt

The sand will always be there

Nobody panics inside of an hourglass

(Nobody lives inside of an hourglass)

Best to just settle and then pour out

Constantly flipping

Constantly flipped

Over to keep track of someone else’s existence

 

I came because I was invited

By the family

I stand here holding, knowing,

I can’t really buy anything

This is not my home

I do not really know these people

And so I will continue

Racing toward the tiny juncture

Finding and settling in rest when it is time

Pouring and pouring

 

They bought me a gift