On a retreat to the mountains, I escape
to step outside of regular life for a time.
The peaks dressed in winter white,
time refrigerated by the falling flakes,
and lovely folks around me, old and new,
alight all the artist parts of my brain.

On a shelf in an old bookstore,
I meet myself, a mixture of the past and future,
and she is disappointed, mournful.
While browsing poetry titles, she cries.
I listen to her, and she says,
you’re running out of time.

On a separate shopping excursion,
I adopt a pair of sunglasses -
two perfect black circles to conceal
the passing of time that my eyes can’t hide.
I show my friend of photo of me at 16,
she says, you look exactly the same.

On my return flight, all that I am
packaged back inside my bags, inside my body,
my appetite for life appeased for the moment,
I decide I like myself, and I can change,
as everything will mix with time,
coming out the other side, beautiful.