When the shadows lengthen
and I use imagination
I  can make most anything
upon the lawn I look upon.


The contingencies of aging
have not deprived me
of  the power to create things
that are not, but seem to be.


The long strips of darkness
that play upon the grass
grow and grow —
eventually meeting me
who goes out to see
the pending glory
of a sun that’s going down
beyond the live oak trees.


I find my breathing is enhanced
as I watch the arbor dance
with swaying branches
becoming arms that whirl around.


I see the shadows pirouette
before they fade away
to close another glorious day.

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