Railings

Rust

and acrid memories embrace

the hollow echo of morning traffic.

Non-conforming dreams

age

like the irrelevant patchwork of old buildings.

I savor the air.

Too brief,

passing for lack of time;

dying without fulfillment;

left behind by routine struggle.

Time

floats between halcyon days

and a steady grip.

Hands greet railings

like old friends,

comforting one another on a long journey.

Alongside steps I’ve taken

promise

clings to peeling paint on sun-dried wood.

So far I’ve been…

How much further still?