the playground

it's a grey
wind that has passed over us.
aging
our bones,
thinning our hair,
our ranks,
our once smooth skin.
the bleating
of time,
the sand of it, the vapor
of it
rising into
the full sky
above the playground.
we press on,
no less thrilled at
the shot, the pass,
the win or loss that
will be
forgotten
or remembered into
eternity.the