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Is there
Nothing
More?
Only
The soft whispering
Of years
Sneaking past
On slippered feet
Leaving
Memories
Floating
Briefly
In their wake
Like dust?
Did I hope
For more
When
The march
Began?
Should I have
Guessed?
And
When I was
Young
If
I had
Gathered
Time
And pressed it
In a little book
Like flowers,
Would it
Still
Have crumbled
If
I’d kept the pages
Closed?
Would it
Have lasted
Longer
Had I
Never
Peeked?
Now,
I only see
The ashes
Of a fire
Extinguished.
What child
Knows
To save
The air?
Where is
The Phoenix
Now?