Most poems that deal with time set memory against it. Memory is what we hold up against the clock, the one thing that might outlast loss. Kin's single line turns that habit upside down: "everything include memories should disappear along with the time." The speaker doesn't ask for memories to be kept. The speaker asks for them to go, and to take everything else along.
The sentence is built like a list that gets more intimate as it goes. It begins with the widest possible word, "everything," then narrows to "memories," and the verb "include" makes the second feel like an afterthought, as if the speaker had at first meant to spare them and then decided not to. That small hesitation does a lot of work. Memories are the item most people would protect, so putting them in the line of fire tells us this is not a casual wish for tidiness. The poem suggests something is being remembered that the speaker would rather not carry.
The verb "should" is the hinge of the line. It sits between a prediction ("everything will disappear") and a command or plea ("let everything disappear"). We can't tell whether the speaker is stating a moral rule, voicing a hope, or sighing in exhaustion. That ambiguity keeps the tone from settling. It could be bitter, or tired, or oddly peaceful. "Disappear" adds to the effect because it has no agent. Nobody destroys or erases anything. Things simply stop being there, quietly, as if forgetting were a natural process the speaker wants to see completed.
The ending is the most paradoxical part. "Along with the time" is the natural way to say that things pass with the years, but the line also asks time itself to vanish. Time is normally what makes things disappear, so the speaker imagines the cause going down with its effects. The definite article matters too. It is "the time," not simply "time," which points to a particular stretch, a period the speaker has lived through and now wants closed. The poem never says which one. It is also telling that, in a wish for total erasure, the last thing named is the thing that made memory possible in the first place.
On sound and form, there is no rhyme, no punctuation, and no capital letters, and the title is only a row of asterisks. The poem presents itself as untitled and unfinished, with nothing to mark where the thought begins or ends. The missing full stop is especially fitting. A sentence about disappearance doesn't close itself off, and the line seems to trail away into the blank space after it, which is a small way of enacting what it asks for.
The rhythm is plain but not careless. Counted in the usual way, the line falls into three groups of five, seven and five syllables: "everything include" / "memories should disappear" / "along with the time." That is the pattern of a haiku, and it may be coincidence, since nothing in the text confirms it was planned. Even so, it gives the line a shape that feels contained, almost breath-sized, and the longer middle part holds the weight of the idea while the two shorter ends frame it. The vocabulary is flat and everyday, with no metaphor and no image to look at. The poem hides nothing behind decoration, and that bareness makes it sound sincere.
A reader might also notice the grammar. "Include" where standard English would expect "including" gives the line a slightly unpolished, spoken quality. Whether it is deliberate or a slip, it stops the sentence from sounding like a refined aphorism and makes it sound like something said aloud, in a low voice. The signature "kin," a word for family or relatives, adds an unintended echo if we read it as a name. A wish to erase every memory gains a certain irony from a word that means the people bound to us by shared history. That is only a reading prompted by the word, though, and nothing in the poem makes it certain.
The poem's significance lies in how much it leaves for the reader to supply. One line holds a whole emotional stance, the desire to be released from the past, and it doesn't explain or justify it. Anyone who has wanted a day, a year or a relationship to be wiped clean can place their own history inside it. Poems of consolation tell us that memory saves us. This one admits, briefly and without decoration, that sometimes it doesn't feel that way.