The Times Converging Poem by Smoky Hoss

This is the time that was, where
a young boy with an old stick,
in his last summer
before the public-system will bend his mind
to forget
- forget the old stick,20 times his own age -
stands on an iron rail, looking away far,
to where the two tracks converge.

This the time that went, with
birds hanging on straight limbs,
and barbed wire tied to bent poles
running alongside the shiny tracks
as far as the boy can see;
closing one small eye while searching with the other
down the length of the upheld old stick,
he sees that everything comes together in the end.

Years later, in this the time that is, now
grown the boy returns,
coming back from somewhere far away
he finds the favorite spot of his youth, there
desperately seeking for his lost old friend the stick,
he kneels beside a tree near the tracks
picks up a handfull of dirt and lets it blow to the wind,
realizing in time all things become one.