Walking in a field of years past
time grows tall, reaching
for moments falling like leaves
waiting to be swept away
forgotten until the next walk
in a field of years past.
Collecting time is no
easy task when lost in rows
of days filled with fear and joy
and hopefulness dripping with doubt
waiting to harvest all that
might come of collecting time.
I turn back down the stony
path, but this time won’t let me.
Now I see a clearing to pause,
an empty space calling me.
All I can do is go to it. As a magnet
pulls iron, I’m drawn. I want to
slow the pace, but this
time won’t let me.
Now in the clear, I rest wondering
just how long I’ll think of
you, counting all that we
planted and watch it grow.
Pasquale Trozzolo is a retired madman from Kansas. He is the author of Before the Distance (The Poetry Box, December 2020) and Un/Reconciled (Kelsay Books, November 2022) Still no tattoos, or MFA, he continues to complicate his life by living out as many retirement clichés as possible. https://pasqualetrozzolo.com
