In Passing

In Passing Below, old age and loneliness, One slow step at a time, Makes her way home. Gnarled held shopping, Frail and thin, Not seeing those who bustle past Who, likewise, look right through Themselves in times to come. A fading shadow echoes every move, Anchored to her care worn shoes That may have walked this way A thousand times before Alone. Past riven flags, Muted ochre's all, Crazed and cracked with weathered joints. Her face, reflected up from windows past Belie a youth she carries still That none can feel, Or see, Or ever know.