Sunsets in Our Pockets

Thieves of
days and nights and
moments long
forgotten.
Numbers in calendars
race on glossy pages,
slip and fall off
only to be
vacuumed by the tornado
of existence, swallowing
everything along with the
stars and the sea,
stealing sunsets from
our pockets, and
words from our mouths.
Like puzzles with
missing pieces, stationary
creatures traveling through
stories invented by
unknown authors, painted
by dead artists.
We are toys and games
played, bouncing on
the clock's arrows,
metal disguised as hands
with fingers, stroking our
heads into slumber.
An audition? No, this is
real and now!
No time for the camera
to take the perfect
shot. Click, snap
a close-up of freckles,
wrinkles, blemishes
and scars, as mirrors
without reflections wander
like ghosts among
us.