Old Man

Is that me, staring back at me someday?
The old man in the window, holding the twilight’s last moments at bay.
All the thoughts of regretful stalmates, talking with little to say.

Is that you circling the block again, searching all you lost again?
Alone and fearful. This may be the end.
Looking as I pass, your nook hidden from the world, taken from lost daydreams unfurled.

Broken Winters, Endless Spring.

You and I, seated at crossroads where the horizon begs our hand for direction.

Pick-Me-Up

The path deflects the sunlight,
as I watch you drive away.
What a strange occurrence that brought us here together;
and the same polarity moves us onward.
Upward. Hopeful.

I loved you in my heart but needed to find that my road was paved in waves of blistering highs and lows.
The minutes and hours in free-fall.

Every time I got up- I needed to fall back down myself.

And then pick myself up.

But here we are. Somehow knowing that we could never leave- the syncopation of our insides stirring, churning slowly at sixty beats per minute

Time stood still in the brief moment when deliverance segues into revelation.

We are each others keeper.