Not to turn the clock back
Nor to quiet its tic-toc
But to sit next to it
And light a pipe with English
tobacco
Next to the bed
Is the old diary, leather bound
And past bound
Leave the diary pages untouched
Then
Leave the room with a steady pace
Whistle is silence that song you
once knew
Give it a new name rhyming with the
old one
Next to the bed
In a clay vase
There are wild violets
From an ancient field
Keep your eyes open and let your
memories in
Hear the clock
Close your diary book
And dance
Barefoot
May 25, 2020
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2020
Vote: The picture is of my last sculpture. More about it on https://vaheark.blogspot.com/2020/05/pandemic-and-hero-with-thousand-masks.html
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