I keep living in the past.
I keep looking over my shoulder.
The last 5 or 10 years seem so close
like I could have that again.

But they are mere reflections
like the long dead stars
we wish upon.

There are conversations
I wish to continue
with mouths long stopped.

Too late I hold precious
the things that were before me.

I can hardly bear to see pictures of my father.
He was just here.
We just spoke.
And I see him everywhere.

Sometimes
someone with my grandfather’s voice
and even his larger than life presence
will walk into the office.
I am almost on my feet and halfway to him
before I realize.

I want to pick things up where I left them
but the lines are dead
and the deadlines have passed.

I keep looking over my shoulder
as if my life is there.
I torture myself
searching for answers that can no longer
be found.

I pine for yesterday
as today slips into the past
to be mourned tomorrow.