When my eyelids close
for fractions of a second
each and every day,
I often miss it altogether.
Then and again they shut tight.
Then and again clocks lose meaning.
Then and again faces come from the past.
Some of them have no shape yet haunt me still
for years to come.
Some of them I know better than my own and I
wish not to shake away.
Some of them remind me of a dreamy visage that
I wished my own to be.
Then and again eyes shut, open.
Then and again clocks tock-tick away.
Then and again the faces become
indiscernible,
indescribable,
impossible to grasp.
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