I met
Myself from another time
On the bus on my way back home
He whispered to me
Of all he'd seen and heard
And smelled and touched
And lost along the way, while
Laughing through his children's eyes and trying through his own.
His rickety finger tapped timidly
On the windows that block the
Precarious winds that seldom blow
Bringing the same strange relief of loss
That lasts only a moment.
With pain and with pride,
With guilt and forgiveness,
Sometime
Somewhere
I knew I'd reek
Of the same regrets,
Of the same misgivings.
Right now
Right here
I knew I'd rather not.
