Back to something a little less experimental and cerebral, and more heartfelt.
The long and short of it
As the past grows long, the world shrinks:
print dwindles, voices and flavors recede;
the old crowd diminishes by a friend
this month, an aunt the next; your parents leave
and take childhood with them; all roads
converge to the path you’re on, and that
doesn’t reach far — you’re nearly at the gate.
And as time grows short, the world expands:
children get tall, become families; pills bulk
and stick in the throat; stairs stretch
and multiply; your helpless body’s needs
loom greater, sprawl across the hours;
and the love inside, the ache
and the love, swell for what’s left,
for the faces and moments
you know now were never yours:
too soon, everything will be put away.