Over fences

We don't dig deep -
the union tradition has skipped a generation.
You could mention, here, our values,
but
we never fell asleep,
we just were, when the time came
and transformed what had happened,
took it away from us.
Geometry forms the basis of my self-constructed memories,
I don't remember how you wore your hair,
but the path to your house wasn't quite perpendicular to the sidewalk
and the windows of your house
took me further back.
The sunset seemed so old-fashioned,
out-of-touch,
as if we had no more room for the outdoors
and could just spend the small hours driving around
basements and back alleys,
the haze of the irreverent lights,
telling us in the most explicit way
that these nights were not ours.
Destination is an odd concept
in that it leaves so little out,
so much to the imagination.
The subtleties of arrival, and
what story do I want to leave behind
when I get home?
I've always felt five years younger than I am
and I expect this to catch up to me
any day now, because something is building
or rather, unbuilding
and I find myself
more often
telling myself
that it's just a building
on a street in a city
and the people inside
outside
are not part of any significant universal theater
and on and on
until I don't even hear myself anymore,
and will only go down the streets I'm supposed to,
and only knock on the doors where I'm expected.