A year goes by in the flicker of an eye
yet nothing really changes.
Others talk, the need to make themselves heard.
I sit in the old rocker and say nothing.
I try and measure the true distanced travelled.
Where have I been today? The feeling of relaxation
that only comes from pushing myself beyond supposed limits
and coming out the other side, more than alive.
The glint coming from the pewter on my wrist.
Memory layered on memory so precisely
that none of the edges are blurred.
I sit in the old rocker and not say a word.
I hear the voice of one I am afraid to name:
sends the same old shiver down my spine.
Instead of trying to decode your sun-muffled words
I imagine that my hair has grown long again.
I try and focus on the dazzle of your words.
An anxious hour burns through the windows.
An old-fashioned sunset turns back the clock
as I sit in the old rocker and say nothing.