Age

Who Will We Count On?

Are we alone?

I mean at the end.

Knowledge

It doesn’t end.

I am older now and

We are here, just hiding a little.

A one line poem

Turn the Page

Gather Winters,
gather age,
gather Springs,
turn the page.

In The Attic Of Time

In a box marked ‘stuff’, in the attic of time

The Way of Sunday Afternoons

a hard laugh,
a wet cheek,
a knowing grin,
a sip of chamomile hot enough to scald the tongue
and we fold…