i.
my dad always
said that your mind
doesn’t age,
and then one day
an old man stares
back at you
from the mirror.
your whole life
felt, in retrospect,
as a single step
over a drainage
ditch
with odd bits
of trash and debris
clinging
to its edges.
ii.
looking back,
a kaleidoscope
of faces
from my past
have melted.
mutilated by time
and inattention
to detail,
only tiny fragments
remain intact.
a marketplace
of memories
devoid of color,
the finer grains
of context
lost on my inner child.
