The Backwards Glance

And now the day is stormy
But on the last day of Ordinary Time it was clear
Only in novels the weather is the mood.

And on that day there were such things::
An office. A kitchen. A phone. A mart-cart. A penny.
Only in my mind have these things changed.

And so have all the wings and all the whirlings
You left the earth. Took off. Flew away.
Only you have never come back home.

And so I alone survived to tell the tale
I travelled in a different way. Forward. Through linear time.
Only you will ever be before me, distant.

Yet, every year, I turn to backwards glance.