Copyright © 2000 Steven J. D. Bean

I never believed I would grow to grow old.
But, with each passing day without her,
Years are stripped away
Like flesh from bone.
Time stretches like a penny on the tracks-
Ceases at the crossroads.

Steal on steal- grating- lurching-
Thin-focused nightmares in fitful sleep
Memories beckoning- things unsaid, I think.
Ten thousand thoughts an hour
In loose, floss-coupled cars.

Over and over the wheels turn over
And over- and over again.
Thinking is the truest torture.
When she's back, I will be here
And she'll think I've not moved at all.

I may not now be who I was.
Aged and worry-worn,
Selflost- dreamweary-
Unforeseen circumstances only happen
When you least expect it.
Now, I am so tired.

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