Time Flies

It’s after midnight
It was nine when I turned on the lamp,
sitting here, neither reading nor talking
alone in the house
who is here to talk with?

Only the shade of my former self
reminding me of earthly pleasures past
a bed of dark pecan
the lushness of a hip and breast
her limbs perfect and trembling

revealing to me as well
streets now unrecognizable
houses and taverns which are no more
and those still standing
I will never pass again

And the ghost of my former self
has been shown the sources of sorrow
the grief of families, separations
a pyre for the woman
burying sons

After midnight!
how the hours have sped by!
after midnight;
how the years have sped by.

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