First,
you stop returning.
Then,
you forget your way.
“Can you tell me where Hawthorne is?”
That farago street
stretching into autumn
memories
turned from
once young to
now not.
Not now.
“Where are you trying to go?”
“Hawthorne.”
You and me both.
It’s nostalgia but not regret.
A memory can be lovely
without being
love-lost or
lovelorn.
“It’s a fine line,”
she said as she wheeled her cart through
the automatic door.
If only Heaven was so convenient.
And the angels only sing once
the angels arrive;
wingless, heartless, but stupid
and kind.
Angels are never
what you anticipate and
the past never lives
up to
expectations.
Joe Nolan <3
Listen to two of my CD’s – Blue Turns Black and Plain Jane! Download your free songs, stream both discs and find both projects at your favorite digital music shop.
