time,

time is that

cruelest of jokes

that someone is laughing

at, but not you

falling sand, eroding waves,

hackneyed imagery

that misses the gut

no one talks about

the shrinking

the faces, small

weathered by a

lifetime of

worthy trials,

the river, now

shallow where once

it had been daunting

a sincere threat of

drowning

now piddly

and waist deep

the dogs too,

somehow

smaller than

remembered,

still panting

their silly heads

in the late

spring breeze

leaving me to

wonder just

when the hell

all this happened,

how long have I

been gone and

where the hell

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