life falls through cracks in the floor boards,
a dust that time knocks
off the soles of our boots.
A powdery grit that drifts up
through a gap by the gas pedal
in our worn out pickup as we fly
down a gravel road, toward supper.
Years of misplaced memories, in layers beneath
sagging porch planks, drifted there unnoticed,
while, chains creaking, we kicked our legs and swung
to and fro, without purpose, across our days,
forsaking the fine, forgotten minutes
as they slipped, irretrievably,
into the crawl-space of our past.
