Time draws on
        but what of our memories
what of our dreams ?
        Night stretches into day
and in the mirror I notice
        new lines etched
while I slept

All my past is in that face
        and what’s left of me
is there too

I write and I paint
        the subjects of my life
the moments of my life
        the lips and the hair on her head
the memory of all those kisses
        the knowledge that nothing
is ever lost

Trees I have known from birth
        are still there : oaks and birches
and sycamores and laburnums
        will all outlive me

though age is no accomplishment
        survival of the fittest means little
quite a different matter
        are the paths we tread
the paths we have trodden
        and the indelible memories
of love sweet love

how our hands met
        how our eyes locked
into one another
        how slowly but surely
we began to share
        the same breath

lines cut deeply
        blood-rich memories
curated in our beating hearts
        to have tasted paradise
made it all worthwhile

Regrets
        too many to mentioned
but not you

John Lyons