Compel

He still doesn’t know,
Thirty-four years later, what
Made him pick up the phone
That say to call the eyes he
Dreamed about, those green
Lakes of vanishing, and ask
Them to look at him, into him,
And change him. He can’t
Understand the plans of the fates,
Not now, not then, not ahead,
When time is water through
His fingers, green and clear,
A compulsion to stay living.

R 25/11/2023 12:43