WRESTLER WITH TIME
I
the waves glisten in the moonlight
and there stands the wrestler with time.
trying to grasp the concept of youth
his being is like a grain of sand
underneath the san clemente skies.
the cedar aroma drifts from the end of the pier
and into a starry night
of which lays out to him the map of
the past, the present, and the future.
beauty etched into the universe
for as long as the earth spins —
the wrestler with time.
old houses scatter shorelines near
and far beyond the bend.
there’s a soft passing of a train
and the sounds begin to blend.
it seems to sweep him off his feet
and set his caged soul free —
he is the wrestler with time.
the fishermen with their buckets
pack up and disappear
under the dim glow
of scarcely placed lamp posts.
as he glances over to his wrist,
laces dangling over tower thirteen.
it is there where the wrestler with time
seeks for understanding of why
youth fades and one’s
appreciation of beauty changes
as the days go by.
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