The Old Folks' Home

Well past sunset,
My parents and i
Reminisce, laugh,
Squint at each other's
Emerging silhouettes.

Under the darkening dome, a parade:
Children inventing a dance
Of Sun worship,
Teenagers flirting,
Pelicans commuting back
To their mangrove perches
Above a sea
Sighing itself
To sleep.

All we have is behind us,
And all with which we have been
Is spread before us.

The horizon hints of morning.

There is no beginning and no end.

It was ever thus.

--Mr. Gobley

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