zag's digs

some places we never escape from, 

as some detriment of memory

or the shading of dark blues through the cloud’s sun

built up hair in the shower drain

the faces in dreams  


we live on in others as they do in us .. 

as my father rubs off on the small interactions turned toward a gesture now shared among those far away from him  

the slips of words that come out as a word to someone of our past now gone 

the aged marker that tells us what we could have never known then

we still go on loving and finding it


loving from here and asleep

there are things felt, alone that are meant only for the view of what’s just outside to see 

walking it more in distant, a turbulent dance of balance back and between

a generation of yearning for sunsets in far and near places where once set, only a rest will rise again


time is not yet old

though it may walk bent over

copyright 2019 ⓒ / forrest gallagher