in a silent not unpleasant fog

i am in the back seat
i am five
and i am quiet
a listener
while my mind drifts
in a silent not unpleasant fog

i am in the back seat
i am 18
and i am quiet
a wonderer
dreaming of the world
while it races past
fast forward

i am in the back seat
i am 35
and i am quiet
leaning face against window
amazed by snow and my face
melting into the ice
leaving an impression

i am in the back seat
i am 51
and i am quiet
puzzling at changes in my self
and the startling sameness within
as if i have always been here

i am five
i am 18
i am 35
i am 51

i am all these ages
and i am none
all at once
my ghost adds to itself
while my machine runs down
but my small voice is unchanged
quiet in the backseat
in wonder at the passing world
yearning for a reaching branch
that i might climb into the dark and sacred branches
of a living tree
or a dying tree
to become whatever i might be next

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