Time Isn’t, I am Not
- Ingrid Oliphant
- Apr 24, 2020
- 1 min read

The ground quivers and
air opens to swallow the mold,
whole, wholly
dissolving me into eternity
or what used to be.
Then exhales me,
stirred, folded into the past,
particulate,
future and
presents me
again, not of this time, nor mine.
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