Growing Old and Remembering
Sometimes silver like waters run through the whispering secret
of our pastel summers,
it was a peaches and cream winged dream, playing sonnets
in the wind of the eagles, the bouncing rhythms of every blue
note writing songs for us in the sky
sometimes the sterling memory of its ebb is still orchestrating
the band for us, even now in the gray crumblings of time, when
its all we can see.
A yellow wistling sun echoes in the melody of everything we had
Far away from the laughing white snow that falls. We’re no longer
able to hear the howling black night shouting out the stars to empty
Somehow the eyes of time are blinking and we’re wide awake again.