(C) R.L.K.
It just happens: late in the day,
when leaf shadows tremble in half-light,
nostalgia comes out of nowhere
to carry you away. Slowly,
a lone cloud skims the treetops.
The low sun etches shadows on the sidewalks.
It just happens: the night descends,
and with the night, comes the thought
that there is always another shoebox full
of old photographs to sort through
while crickets chirp outside and you
grow older with every chirp.
