The past is the mirror to my soul;
I hold it,
Arms outstretched,
As a gorgeous, timeless orb before me
A spherical chromatic expanse.

The shadow ahead deceives me;
Sporadic pupilled photosenes -
Dim pinpricks in a fuzzy density –
Are all I am allowed to see
All that is revealed to me
As my tender heels crunch closer
Crunch closer on the Mason’s brittle way
His biscuitted remains.

I can now taste the dry crisping
Of the orange and brown
Gnarled, bare fingers stroke my passing being
This delicate vessel, afraid of the coming frost

The way immerges
And the orb illuminates the greyscale before me.