I was in a dream.
On a path, I chose to follow,
until I came to a pond,
with a large log, all hollow.
The opening much taller than I .
Outside it was covered with moss,
I moved to the mouth and did try
to enter the log; I heard my name; calling
and in a few steps, I was falling,
landing on my old knees.
In front of me, a sight that could please,
was the face of a friend, no longer here.
I struggled to rise from this musty place,
trying to crawl one knee at a time.
The air became heavy as if from smoke,
then suddenly, from the dream, I awoke.

A lonely tear, slides down my cheek
as I think of this life of ours.
It pains me when recalling you,
now the tear has become two.
I am not weeping, there is no more.
Just the tick of a clock.

My mind is running away from me.
I think I need a pre frontal lobotomy.
Thoughts that are stuffed in every place,
Wedged in cracks or any empty space.
I need some time. Time to think
Or I may have to turn to drink.

The sight of children playing
brings memories from the past,
of tire swings
or throwing rocks
and days that last and last.
Riding bikes, with fenders gone
while racing through the street
with nickel cones, bubble gum
and sockless, shoeless feet.

(This a redo, published in 2017)