Dried in the Sun

Your life is not the passing sands in an hourglass

It is a rainstick

Creating decibels of decades

Bouncing the pouncing of pebbles

Internally intricate

Cascading down in a symphony of static

Shivers resonating through your vertebrae

Echoing your experiences through the goosebumps on your neck

And when it stops,

And the hairs on your arms fall back into place

You get to flip it again.

Your life is an orchestra, not a timer.