uncertainty

the familiar yesterdays,
sometimes, asking,
"what did I do with all that time?"

there's a tree on the parkway, amongst many, that sways in warm summer shine. then, still, tomorrow. Look there, a child squinting at transparent yellow-green leaves,
and I'll go away.
one day, someday,
squinting at yellow-green swaying
leaves
each year.

we laid on my bed, looked at maps on the walls.
egypt.
hungary.
someday,
oneday.
she called one night,
things change.

stranded under a flag pole,
one of the most beautiful sensations on my skin,
a cool, brisk breeze on an august
morning in kentucky, just after
sunrise. sit, waiting for a bus. alone. a
moment of
faith.

that morning, he died getting off a school bus. we found out, they offered us someone to talk to.
sitting and discussing death.
I could only think,
he's beyond repair.

what did I do with all that time?

in the end,
squinting at yellow-green, transparent tree leaves,
swaying. summer.
then, child.
now,
someday, child.

hiding what I thought was real.
looking at dreams when awake, touching old faces when I'm asleep.
the crying when everything that was once [imagined] permanent, breaks apart in clouds
looking in the bathroom mirror,
a weekday morning,
realizing the only thing that's real,
are the new wrinkles on my face.