The Persistence of Memory Alex Byrne Faces pressed into sand Gentle movement of the hand The ticking of a clock Eyelashes fall and stall Languidly watching Gently mocking Feelings lost Relived and horrified The waves of it Move in and out With lifeless trees For which all of them Seem to hang Pretty faces sink Eyes full of space Stutter stop Back to sand And into glass Tick tock tick tock
7
