I have been here for so little time
Yet still i feel the heat
Of decades
Of change
Resting on my eyes
The ring of doves and church bells in the morning
Replaced by mindless cranking
Of alarms
Of reversing
Trucks
The once soft and gentle creep of vines
Replaced by wire crawling through concrete and drywall
When will be the time of my unraveling
When the only presence of care is the moss folded into logs
Like they mark the end of a beloved
Chapter
As much as involve myself
I do not care for the new found rubber and metal
Of my time
I much prefer the wind and rain
Dragging itself through the thick blue needles
Of the fir trees
And the stampede of of orange aspen leaves
As they dive toward the ground
Almost as if they are fish
And the bed of stones and dirt was
The curve of the ocean
