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