Rusty dusty
and musty
cheap patina 
untouched thing
damp dark 
and forgotten 
like bicycles 
books and 
precious diaries 
once ridden 
with gleeful 
abandon once
prized possessions 
once the 
keeper of 
forbidden secrets 
and desires 
these three
siblings two
brothers and 
a sister 
children of 
getting old

When I 
had forever 
it was 
easy to 
give away 
but now 
in this 
late hour 
of slowly 
dimming candles 
I wonder 
what’s forever 
called when 
little is
left of 
it to
offer someone 

My home
this morning 
a chill
and I 
a dog
huddled in
front of 
fire warming 
king in
his castle 
hermit in
his cave 
all but
the same 
cold does 
that reduces 
men to 
little boys 

City hints
beyond curtains 
a whisper 
of life
and a
whistle from 
a far
away train 
everything sleeps 
but me 
I watch
like a 
sentinel as
you awaken 
my home 
from nights 
lonely dream

I’ve found
my hill
it’s the 
perfect size 
not to 
summit for 
I’m done 
with that
but rather 
to ride
down and 
climb up 
over and 
over again 
I am 
finally child