Hourglass

I watch presently
as all
my hopes
and wishes
of past days
finally
manifest themselves
in front of me.

I am less surprised
than I ought to be
to discover
that
their fruition
brings little satisfaction
to my weary face.

Do we hit a certain point
where dreams
stop collecting dust
and instead
join it?

Do wishes carry
invisible
expiration dates,
stealthy in
their impermanence,
quick to dissolve
into
mockeries
of juvenile yearning?

I scold myself
for my lack of emotion--
You should be happier.

Instead
I ask
how long I have
until
my dream of you
becomes
another
dusty him.

9/7/09 -- 12:22 AM