When I was young
I thought the pompous sun
trailing the tracks of the moistened clouds
mimicked my steps like a smuck;
wits through humor’s hose flushed out.
But when age and I mated,
and juvenIle was conceived,
the dusk dawned at me,
the indifference of the purpl’d eyes being.
It never goes to stool,
let alone leaves the pool.
Only that the shell of time
pulls its head into the clime,
and its communion with the air;
swaps its stance, East West, here there.
At least I can now discern:
stages in life, knowledge earn.
19:09:29:11:29
Ancestral Trail 