Every day becomes the same
A walk down the darkened hallway
Falling leaves, the limbs are bare
A cape round the garden walkway
Chain fence a mirrored fort
Guardian of tennis courts
The garden globe reflects the sun

Take the kite roll down the hill
The boy with the nunchucks flailing
Branches sighing in the breeze
The wind of the south exhaling
Splintered on wicker chairs
Paperbacks and calendars
You blushed about our uncle’s laugh

Crooked memory
Is true but not for me
And I could still believe
If I could see and hold
Thru the looking glass
Tricked by a folded past
The least but not the last
Covered in light and gold

Cinder blocks and old garages
Attics and stairs and basements
Overlaid the books I read
On the places we stood in my head
Jump cross the path of stone
Never lonely but alone
I peered down from the maple tree

Thru the looking glass
Tricked by a folded past
The least but not the last
Covered in light and gold

How the years have gone
Fading into stone
The planters by the stairs
Broken still
Round the block again
The looming halls are bent
To cloud my memory,
had I been there at all

Crooked memory
Is true but not for me
And I could still believe
If I could see and hold
Thru the looking glass
Tricked by a folded past
The least but not the last
Covered in light and gold