A hold on you –
at least for a time,
but mostly forever.
Recklessly time goes,
squandered on detail
where hard-pressed implies devotion,
truth is necessity.
Pictures lodged in by-ways of recollection.
A blonde toddler
stands the fog-strewn Maine beach.
A red jacket
skips the sun-dappled path of a fall morning.
Wispy hair settles
over a perfectly shaped head
absorbed by the Berenstains.
I am older – not old
That comes later.
Vivid echoes will be washed down the corridors of days,
clear and pure,
where tempos beat an unmeasured journey.
For now –
A smile lights strawberry blonde hair,
more berry than gold.
One arm swings as the room is circuited
He pauses – looks
Nice. That line really works perfectly as the final line.