Home
Across the street
an old man sits looking out
of a window. There is a sadness
in his world. Memory populates
the scene with the last few things
his years have managed to keep.
Now, these too are beginning to leave.
Faces have dissolved their names.
As the day darkens and withdraws
into featureless absence, he longs
for home. It calls to him,
waits for him, but he cannot remember
where it is or what it looks like
or how to get there.
He asks others, but no one knows.
They are looking for theirs.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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