Returns
Waiting for the timeline,
a roiling memory
diluted in a solution of
age and red dye #5.
There are dots and arrows
pointing to the past
sending me swirling
in a dance
through jagged branches
with the smell of
fall leaves as reminder.
There I am,
a child,
looking through the window
waiting for your car to pull up,
wondering where you are.
Time allows me to forget
many things
but not you
or what you didn't do.
Time nudges me
like the nose of a dog
and too often
I ignore it,
preferring to wallow
in the muck
of things I can't change.