Time Passes
The bedroom door stands open.
A mower runs nearby.
I see
sun through the trees on the fence.
The dog lies
sleeping,
no children play with him today
(our boy became a man yesterday)
and you far away in
your bookish room. I sit
alone, wrapped in
yesterday, in that other spring
before we knew. Time passes,
I feel my age, the loss of things,
the change (oh how it frightens me)
and long for your
strong hand near.
The mower quits, the quiet comes
and I allow the beauty. It falls on me, gently,
like round river rock. Time passes,
weighted and worn with what we’ve made. I cry,
struck by the whole of my life
and long for you,
for what we have. Love
tonight, supper by the lake,
and
25 years.
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