Since Cornucopia

Since Cornucopia

He wakes,

and the tributaries

race

through a lifetime.

 Newly married,

he sits

on the edge

of bed.

“My love,”

he says,

and tears

find the edge

of his eyes.

Thunderous, those memories…

years,

 the wax

of burning candles,

they roll

from flame

of younger days.

A shiver…

he remembers

as he remembers

her.

Cold now,

alone

in the dearth

of cornucopia,

close to memory

of what will never

be

again.

He rises,

as the sun

has done,

he walks

with the wither of morning.

In a moment…

He finds himself

before the mirror,

a tiger draped

in time’s arms,

a shell

looking back

at him…

 he begins to brush his teeth.

Hayward 2006