Long Times
Once more
she downloads herself
from a long defunct
floppy disk
Her words are even older
they are typed
by a manual typewriter
under an antiquated
ceiling fan
she tries to explain
the inexplicable
as an error
in her programing
her future was not meant to be
her summer
wanted no more winters
I am at the end and the beginning
wedged between
yesterday and tomorrow
I listen and reload
printing my mind with
endless alternatives
more variables
late blooming sorrows
refresh themselves
we both know
that
gone
is timeless
and
forever
always runs late
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