Scars across an aging heart

never seem to heal

and the wind stings just

a little less

across my pricked face amid the

trees of white and brown and blonde.

 

Hair sits atop my head

a messy crown of brown and ash

and the memories weave their way

among the lockets and whiskers and strands

with every breath I take in.

 

A heavy heart is made heavier still

by the endless gravity and march of time.