Foreign Age

The seventies still simmer in
my soul… even though
fifty years have
sped through every
sparkle and flutter of
this and thats
coloring my
days and months and orbits
around the sun.

I thought, way back then, that
I owned life,
that I and every resurrection of
youthful indulgence was
mine to hug or
hurl into the vast here-and-
now and a nebulous forever.

I had dreams with
wings that kaleidoscoped with
psychedelic imaginings,
…flitting and sitting
upon and around my youthful
naïveté.

In the brush of a flutter,
sunshine and nightshine passed,
generations came and went,
leaving images of the mind,
giving hands to hold.

Foreign Age

My body belongs to
a foreign age now, but with just
the melody of memories,
the seventies
still simmer in my soul.