Silhouette

May2017

Behold, the scene that fed my past,
though my childhood laughs did not echo there
and the silhouette of what is left
is flattened now, with those bare
and winter-ready trees
having autumn-lost their drinking cups
stand blindly, looking up,
dry towards a dimming sun
which paints moist a faint landscape glow
though I see no field or garden now
and there is no gardener to wipe his brow
in summer heat,
in this cardboard cut-out version
of my childhood seat.
I see but a scene set forever in fading light
where no detailed features may return,
no matter how hard I wish or fight.