Someday, when the world begins
to darken, I’ll
walk in the silence
of early morning, peering
into empty shops with
cataract gray eyes

And I’ll remember being
young, moving fast, skin
smooth like a new bar of soap,
and wondering when I would
make it.

I’ll know then, there
is no making it.

Child, you’re already home.

At 4:00, I’ll eat my
dinner, just the basics –
salad, potato, tea.

And I’ll look out the window
near the garden and watch
the early robins feast
until my eyelids flicker,
slowly, closed.

The final act, not a drama but a lullaby.