Shaking hands with my former self
in these chaotic times
may not be progress. The clock
ticks backwards to dust clouds
and loud hurrahs, to whoops of youth
and muscles flexed to hold
the heroic buck and run
of someone else’s dreams—
a reckless swagger into smaller light.
I could have died several times
and learned nothing—my grip
to meet myself eye-to-eye.
drycrikjournal 
Shades of a gunfight at Stone Corral ?
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Truth with a capital “t” for each of us. love to you two.
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Recent posts cut deeply to core in a chaotic time……..thank you
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