LOST TO TIME
Facebook is the obituary section of a newspaper I didn’t realize I subscribed too.
Sometimes I’m getting the news years after they’re gone.
Memories on the tip of the tongue.
Decades ago, lives in other cities, countries.
Sometimes immediately but still in the past like a celluloid scrim marquee with capital letters and small breath.
Remembering some moment in time before clocks drifted their sands across eternity.
Condolences is the language filling the air with a residue of music and dictionaries full of pictures and time stopping glimpses into the cities left behind.
The empty theater seats with a ghost light beaming.
The violin with a fermata note hanging in the air.
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