Erosion of Minutes

The stone knows nothing of urgency, water whispers the same song a thousand times, patient as breath.

Each drop arrives unannounced, a small amnesia of itself, yet the canyon remembers everything.

We are like this too— the self we were yesterday already worn smooth, shaped by imperceptible hands.

Nothing dramatic announces the change. The cliff does not cry out as it becomes itself, as it becomes less, as it becomes the canyon it always was.