Time Holds No Roses . . .

  
there’s almost no reason left to go crazy,
on this afternoon that so resembles old age, I open a window
and watch the traffic go back and forth, watch depressed pedestrians
hair dyed white by the dust . . .  
I sit at the heart of this utopia     it’s as if
I’d never been young     time is gone in a flash
too fast! last night I was remembering
that tree in the place where I grew up
in all the years since then, I’ve strayed too far
and been away from it too long     a neglected life
transformed as if by magic  
into my grandmother’s bones
I always have this sense that there’s something glittering up ahead
but when I get to it I find a pile of broken glass
it’s tragic, really. I give myself a hard time
but am always willing to let myself off the hook,
my arrogant heart looking away, even my failures
are half-baked     so I let myself sink further
following those tree-roots beneath my window
back to the dirt of my hometown

TIME HOLDS NO ROSES . . .