The lonely men are not lonely

and the lost men are not lost

and the bum is not a bum

and the child is not a child

and time has been wiped out


and disrespected

like a painting

nobody understands.


If we dance beyond

the sea

and we smell the changing seasons

and we listen to the wind

blowing through the trees

silent trumpets

will sound


our destiny.


Picking raspberries

in the summer heat

next to the garden

I grew up in

gives me pleasant pleasure

Each summer

I walk through

seems like eternity

where I never get older

and now

the things that never change

remind me

that I’m changing.

2 thoughts on “Musings on a Warm Evening

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