My Turn

Turn, the Slate is cleaned
by a rerun to my beginning
an eternity now in moments
This jumping goat
bleated on its last hoof

Ensconced down in the dirty
With face of smiling Sun
The epitaph reads
Before the forlorn witness
That Survived me
living behind bars with no roof

Years bear the grace
But, like an airborne ball
to a ground that draws close
my shadow grows, once distant
then completely forgets this turn

2009