Once the ribbons of colors, layered
Peach, tangerine, deep lavender,
(Which cradled the struggling sun)
Decide the child has grown enough
Up and out into the world's view
It slides breaking free of its bands.
It is a new day, and it reigns in glory
In the clear blue of the sky of day.

Out of rosebud lips
Set in honey-hued skin
Love begins to speak, again.

And to hearts it whispers,
"Now listen to me friend."
Then leads that heart astray.

Within windows of desire,
Now flung open wide, it inspires
Many a Billet Doux, sweet love notes

Written from me to you.

At times I catch glimpses of my own mortality.
The fact that although I am present in this moment
I will be gone and become the past.  A memory.
At least one could, would, should hope for that.

Family, those present and gone are always, in effect, present
With me.  My ancestors live large in my life because I choose
To remember their existence, that they acted, were once here.
And thus, it is I who, now, hope to remain, if only in this way.

Yes, it's a surreal way to live.  Past and present meld into future.
And one never knows who it is that will make the choice
To recall, call the name, think upon some act once engaged in.
Yet, we all live side by side in a continuum of time.

Her fears rise-up like a great angry bird suddenly
Flapping black wings. Flitting here, then there.
Glimpses of what had been, what was, what might be.
But these are only the shadows of clouded eyes
Dulled with age and thickened in time.
Held within a brain dulled and thickened the same.
Shadows had darkened her life before,
Throughout her almost 90 years.  Now once more
They were back like an unwanted friend,
Yet these had never really been real
Only in that they now grip her life.

Eons and generations
Come and go.  You remained,
Standing in freezing cold,
Through withering heat.
Sunrises and sunsets
Marked the days and nights.
Comets streamed past,
You, looking skyward to witness.
You became a beautiful green meteor
Falling to earth.

There are weeds that exists only
In the minds of short-sighted ones
Who fails to see their beauty.

This chapter is now closed.
Relegated to the last vestiges,
Foggy scenes through time's mist.
Memories can become happier,

Now faded and worn.
Time's safe place, fuzzy and warm
Is like a sweater that you only pull out
For a season then pack away until next time.