quicksand

your friends
are aging, as
you are,
it's a reluctant
march, but
some walk
slower
than others,
and there is
so much
talk
of remember
when, as if
already
the end has
come and gone.
lost in their
bones, in
the shadows of
a girl
that got away,
a failed marriage,
or job
that disappeared,
a night
on the town.
you feel as if
listening
is like
quicksand, that
by joining
in, you too
will sink down
with them.