Poetry: Time

Time is a Polish mandolin
You bought for two hundred PLN
Under tenements weeping plaster slow
To trade for walls of brick and snow.

Time is what you leave behind
When bags spill over dotted lines.
 
Time is a stroll by winter trees
Wrapped in scarves and bitter breeze
With only antique lamps to guide
Dimming paths doomed to unwind.

Time is what you leave behind
In quiets deep and maybes wide.

Time is a Baltic amber jewel
In that necklace you lost at school
That took ages just to be
And vanished just as instantly.

Time is what you leave behind
When friends say it will all be fine.

Time is a song – yeah, sure, why not?
A familiar rhythm you forgot
That still gives the same sedative shine
Of elegiac, illusory rewind.

In kitchens that double as dancefloors
In necklaces that once were yours
On snowy pathways footprint-scored
Or mandolin strings long ignored
I accept that all things change in time

But I won’t forget you, love of mine.

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