Trans Parent

 Time is a desert on my hand

and sands snake down the fingers

with a resistance to change

 but a permeability through which

I can see Grandfather

walking the main street &

friends with outstretched hands

& father with a golf hat and cart 

Time has no now but sleeps

through which the present opens at a door

when the past gives way to this moment -

this moment grieves with its autumn

but awakens to its paintbrush season of reds

and oranges