and I’m thinking about the years
stacked like worn photographs in a shoebox.
How they blur together until one afternoon
becomes every afternoon,
one goodbye every farewell.
There’s a town I passed through once
where the leaves were turning
and someone I loved was still alive.
Now I’m older and the songs on the radio
sound like they’re playing underwater.
Then fields stretch out brown and gold.
Everything is beautiful and everything is passing.
A plane crossed the sky and I wondered
where it was going, who was on it,
if they were looking down at me
the way I was looking up at them,
both of us in motion,
both of us trying to get somewhere,
both of us already gone.
