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.