Between This Fence And The Horizon
Not half as old as he feels,
The boy peers into the horizon.
The dusk swelters heavy and thick.
Twilight embers drizzle:
Effervescent bubbles pop in midflight.
He leans on the fence elbows propped;
Fingers splash on the coolness
Of that can cradled in blistered hands:
(last inhabitant of the trusted esky) .
On the other side
Of the here and now is There.
There is too faraway from today.
The boy climbs over the fence,
A worn foldaway chair in tow:
Somewhere else but here;
Anywhere else but near.
He shifts again then stops,
Not half as old as he is weary.
Drone of insect calls increase,
The fauna tune instruments-
An evening symphony underway.
The fizzy drink has gone flat.
As usual comforts annoy,
Tepid memory fades into the dark.
His day gone by,another year lost:
Dust in wisps fly off to who knows where;
Not half as weary as he is cold.