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by Bruce McRae
Finally, the penny drops,
a book falls to the floor,
the cat leaps from a window ledge.
A love letter slips off a sickbed
and the known world is covered in snow,
snow fallen from an allegorical heaven.
When the old man says
time is short, and getting shorter.
When the old woman complains
my soul is leaving for worlds unknown,
and her grandchildren smiling,
not knowing what to say,
as if saying makes a difference.
Time, looking over your shoulder,
reading what a life has written,
rifling through your possessions,
throwing it all up in the air.
Watching it fall.