I trace your face as you sleep, each line a history of our time.
I feel your breath on my hand, as light as a feather in wind.
Years ago I remember, before the lines and wrinkles came
when all was possible and we were young
and dreamed of a time, this time,
of growing old together.
I am participating in NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. The goal is to write one poem a day for the month of April. We’ll see how I do.