Some artists and physicists,
working their wares in metal and acrylic and quantum theory,
build Time from ceaseless moments,
an ever-present path we dance upon,
an array of immutable seconds waiting for us to step into them,
our past, permanent and passed.
And while their construction pilfers our choices from us,
filches our will like coins from our pockets,
I find a small comfort in believing
that a series of moments breathe
where our fingers still entwine amidst our laughter.
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