Spanning the Gaps

Every year August creeps its roots through generations and bows!

The Vibrant Channeled Creator

Spanning the Gaps

Seventy five years old:

A wise grin

A silly birthday hat

For all to try

And pose:

Each displaying

Timeless culture



Cacophony of sound

Cheeky front

And back:

Printed with memories

Of complex lives

The eyes tell all.

We understand.

Those seventy

Defer to those thirty.

We used to

Plan reunions.

Stage the chairs.

But now,

We shoot a movie

In our brains

As thirty-something

Programs the Powerbook

Serves hors d’oeuvre

Texts on iPhone


Punches ping-pong balls

Posts 300 digital photos

Of the flume

Flaming Autumn colors

And faces

Stamped with time.

This time, in 2011,

I am not the top of the mountain:

Water flowing down

Toward the young.

I am the cloud, overhead.

I shade the stream

That sculpts the rocks

Grows the moss,

And swims the tiny creatures,

The staff of earth,

Near and far.

I lived for them.

They live…

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