In this dark you are a
shadow of a man: your
cavernous eyes turned my way,
your shoulder hunched against
discovery, a concealed parcel
tucked under your arm.

Your seeded eyes view this garden
with such suspiscion,
your coat pulled tighter
against the weary drudging
of time and the tiresome decay
of your flesh.

You have watched spring fade to autumn:
your blooms turn cracked and dry
and found no impulse to fight it;
your foot rooted in the earth
that spins away your life.

The moonlight makes you a man,
Was it all you dreamt it would be?

It never stops unless you stop it.