When I glance today, I can bask in a vague
recall of those times, young love, innocence
weren’t we all some time wanting the drag
of hours, minutes, years to give chance …
the streets are the same, rows of maple
I do have to try hard to remember just how
exacting my life had become in the pull
of finding myself, my world. When I think now
this place is where everything began then,
first loves, first loss, first reminders always
of just why our lives matter, our roots again
tell a novel ending to what began one day.
When we were children, then, we imagined a sunrise
we didn’t think, then, about ever a need to be wise.