For a Man on his Birthday
To a kid
the year is 730 days long.
A week takes a month to walk.
The afternoon crawls like a worm
across a cyan lawn.
There is no beginning or end.
He falls asleep in April, wakes in January.
Sentences could ramble forever.
He rides time to another century of mind.
He is a cloud passing over a landscape of years.
Looking down and back, it seems
inconceivable.
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