I want to close my eyes
and wake up sixty years
in the future

I will be ninty-five,
aging,
decaying,
but I will be
happy

I will be able to look out at
my children,
my wife,
hell, probably even
my dog
and smile with the memories
they’ll given me over the
years

but as I close my eyes,
for the final time,
drifting into the sleep
I should never awake from,
I will emerge from my rest
a fifteen year-old boy
having only a hazy recollection
of the happiness
that awaits me
one day