They say that time is infinite
Not for length but for divisibility
Half-seconds, milliseconds, nanoseconds
Downwards and smaller forever
Trillions of miniscule nows
Packed together and barely considered
As they shuffle past
In the refugee column of personal history
They slip from notice
Through cracks that yawn
At the edges of thought
The grains of my life are draining away
What becomes of the days?
What has happened to me?
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