To be there in a time when one is not.
Only imagine how it is just now,
That memory place I seek,
Constantly soaking it in sunshine of youth and distance.
I wait here contemplating future days,
When I shall be a ghosting memory in the beings of three generations,
The fading ink of a few middle names.
They matter not the eyes or monikers or the scraps of the scree scoring the skin,
Mad midnight swims in the frozen north sea,
Or waiting for endless love to begin.
Perhaps a touch of meant-to-be kindness enters the line of those we choose to woo,
Who will sit in their own time pondering the faded monochrome of who knows who.
But now,
This morning,
The sun is burning behind the clouds above the river plate.
The ferry's due to cross the brackish water,
And I must board before it is too late.