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.