And all that time, a brown settee in another life, another room, all velour and slatted blinds till now in silence and a greasy morning grey and uniform the same hand clenches now as then but those years rushed by me at a pace I can't measure, erased all the lost minutes like a tap dripping, gathering, a sluice of water curled and slid down the drain all that time washed me clean again.next poem