They are all ungone.
It seemed as if they were memories once,
Now magically undone,
And permanantly present,
Removing completely the yesterday.
The present has bled into the past,
As a river flooding its banks,
Removing the binding limits of a journey,
Punctuated by hard and soft soil,
And the steepness of a life well led.
Now, it seems, they all stand there waiting,
Waiting to hear from me,
How they have impacted my smallest movement,
Somehow missing me,
As I certainly miss them all.
Those people I can no longer talk to each day.
For whatever reason.