Circles

Who be you, my friend?
Was the be of having been,
once upon a tick tock.
Now I’m just the me
as you see me, no longer
the I of who I thought I was.
Forgotten in a memory
of yesterday among
the sacrifices borne tomorrow.
A cool wind you’ll only ever meet
once, and even then unclean.
Dust on the jacket.
Mud between the cleats.
A passing familiar with self.
(mine? yours? ours?)
Tragically, it all came
to a happy conclusion,
tinkling bells in the ultraviolet,
questions forgotten to time,
time lost to living,
living overwriting the memories,
and then here we are.

(dtn)

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