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Winnowing sand from space, The swan-necked hourglass maw sifts grains of time into a climbing pyramid. I watch the golden heap take form from withering geometric cone above; space is the crystal shape that mutely falls, time is the rope of sand that space dissolves. I tilt the toy and watch illusion fall beneath my fingers. I set it aside. All that pretended to measure blank time is but an artifice like folded fan than cannot hold the lady's captured face source-cadenced with a Mona Lisa smile.

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