Although you play at being un-depressed,
whether you bask in sun or plash through rain,
it’s plain as daylight that you often strain
to recollect a name, which, in some nest
of neurons, hides like a shy bird. I’m blessed
to have you near, though time’s bright golden chain,
while gold, still tightens slowly round your brain,
the breakdown of which no one can arrest.

I wish a magic time machine could blast
us all into a “now” before we wilt
like flowers in a frost. I wish the day
would soon arrive when we are somehow built
to be resistant to time’s rape, fly past
our flaws, and find the keys that we mislay.