in passing

Time comes to me
as the shortening of distances
the regularity of tiles underfoot,
bent by contours of the ground
but locked in place by the scoured
edges of clay.
Time awakens me
with the thinning of my soles
the prickle of my chin in the morning
a cup of tea suddenly empty in my hand
fingernail clippings.

I remember you in passing,
the brush of your shoulder
stubborn with the intractability of attraction
of nods and “good mornings” without goodbyes
the patter of conversation the clatter of our
retreating footsteps.
I remember you in passing
as I tread the tiles of time
but the echoes of your footsteps
in my mind go round and round.