How it is that time
moves in pieces
that each we must
note or touch or
somehow move to mind

How it is that life
is nothing but time
that moves forward
in pieces we dare not
not hold, but rarely even
recall or know or grasp

How it is that forever
is only time on end
that moves in pieces
we skip over like a game
of hopscotch, yet

cause, effect, process,
growing into, evolving
out of, slicing ’twixt,
funneling together,
shape us even so —

How it is these
tiny pieces shovel
forward and on
for us to mark,
embrace, fall from,
to live or not