Too soon, too soon!
The year’s number changes
And the moon (one of many) wanes
‘Longside the evening star.

Too soon, too soon!
The memory ranges
Back and forth o’er the many gains
And debts, yet from afar.

Separate, we are,
Twixt the hazy mists of future
And the dusty clouds of past.

Between, we remain,
Tho we squint to clear our vision,
We lean backward to the last.

© 2001 David Marks