The Sun Sets

Leigh Nixon

The final turn is just up ahead. A flick of the wheel shifting the landscape into a twisted familiarity of fields and forests. Family. The stretch of welcome scenery that brushes light memories on the cheek as the car winds the worn path of how things used to be. Searching, my eager eyes find only new faces in old windows. Each change framed by the same brick and cement, though the colour’s fading, perhaps from memory, where even the tarmac lurches into strange patterns of potholes. The earth’s contours bent away from a past I try to reconcile with the present.

The road comes to an end. Like everything, I guess, and I find myself wanting for what was, as the tyre treads trace back the track they used to follow.

The sun splits the sky
and our faces into smiles,
now set in lost lines.

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