Where does the hour go?
(when we turn the clock ahead
and that hour just evaporates
like a summer puddle on a hot sidewalk
here, then gone...
no memory of it...
no moments, no minutes
just a sense that it was here
like a long dead relative in an old photograph
touching on some part of you you can't define)
Where are all those hours I spent with you?
(turning the clock ahead
watching those moments blow away
like leaves in autumn
they were here
I have some sense of them...
but now they're gone)
Where have all those moments gone?
