On Erosion

He wanted me to see
what, unmitigated, is happening.

The decay, the slow loss
of the buildings we at one time called homes.

And the learning of lessons
becoming no more than prattle circles.

The little things along
with the large, being chipped chipped chipped away.

The slow disappearance
that happens like a slow, slow miracle.

From an oracle’s lips
words lost and faded due to the breath’s beat.

We leaned and tipped, tipped tipped
over the height, felt our weight rub the ground.

Walking away from clocks,
leaving their ticktock behind, like that sound.

Or a bell from afar
when you’re walking even farther, its ting.

He let it ring ring
then tossed it over the bridge, just like that.

His fiancee calling
blurted out but fell like a dampened moan.

We walked and saw the town
something added, yet something subtracted.

He pointed to the stone,
its blemishes, See, we are distracted.

He said this and led me
into a part of town where all is aged.

Where everything is aged
and proudly displays the marks of its age.

We then rubbed the rubble
and tried to guess what the structures had been.

He said, If with a stage
we are mesmerized, it’s the new blossom.

House, I replied, and Church,
old worn out things I guessed the structures were.

We peered inside a room,
what appeared to us as Time and a Room.

Old things rearing their heads,
their ragged, dilapidated gray heads.

We saw the kitchen there,
Kitchen with Time hard to identify.

Brown upon young red rust
covering everything with gritty dust.

We trusted our eyesight
and said Dinner happened to be here once.

Dinner nobody ate
and was left souring on brittle plates.

Little by costly piece,
it happens, no matter what we’ve chosen.

He said to remind me,
Waves come and go, but also--erosion.