GRACE II

It’s true, the aspirations of youth burn down to char strips with the years.

Tonight, only memories are my company and my grace.

How nice if they could outlive us.

                                                            But they can’t. Or won’t.

No Indian summer for us. It’s rough and it’s growing dark,

The sunset pulling the full moon up by its long fingernails.

It’s better this way.

                   The unforgiven are pure, as are the unremembered.