Months – many I have, remaining.
They trickle through my fingers
as shards, not sand. It fades:
it commits itself to memories,
it lingers.

Surprise – the Singaporean man
who, like the haze, comes
again uninvited. He wades:
against the current,
grains in his pocket.

Newsflash – I’m reaching
the point where another fall
is just poetry in motion.
Spread the writing on the walls:
this time, it will be different.