Transitions

Sometimes
I wonder who
And what and where
And why

I am an expatriate
Without inspiration
No longer pursuing
La joie de vivre

A brownie, matches, and a girl
With braids and slender fingers
A table of laughter
Friends going off to school

Memories
Distorted by largeness;
That is Tuesday night
Or, rather, what it has become

No longer is it yours, O Creâtrix,
Just as so many things
Of mine are no longer mine
I must hand off the torch and move on

We are both interlopers—
Even though invited—
To a world of twos
That sometimes still touches the soul of man

With its truths
and verse,
Philosophy . . .
and transitions