as an avalanche. A week goes by

in the wink of an eye.

Friendships fall hollow, old ghosts remain, carefully tendered

by the rain.

Streets of the cities, i have walked

my feet ache from the miles, and yet they seem

a scant pathway to your door; where I sit now

contemplating old dreams that never change.

Old longings never subside, they rise in the breast as tides of change that never rest.