How Things Change

How have things changed in the past five years?
That’s the million-dollar question of the day.
But it all seems arbitrary, the ways we mark
a spin around the sun. Maybe I leave behind
particles of myself each time, like the lint,
the soapy grime that coats all washing machines
eventually. Maybe I can learn this trick:
how not to change, how to run in the woods
somewhere, forever, or until I drop, unheralded,
and with no way to measure my age or
whether I look good or bad for it.


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