It is the mist-filled vision behind eyes older than time
Laughter echoing off walls too high to scale
A young boy who will try anyway.
These silver streaked sunsets that glide too quickly away
To fill the silence with questions of their coming
And breath that once fogged the windows of a backseat
Now whisper secrets to an ear that’s not listening.
On the far side of those too-high walls
The rain is coming down cold and biting
Beyond a tide that has gone out
Past the point where it seems it might one day come back.

Photo from Pixabay