This very moment is passing.

I can feel the train car reeling,

my thoughts are dipping into

aged funds trying to maintain

a sense of routine.

That remainder of comfort,

familiar clothes,

but my face departs from me in the mirror everyday.

I see a change and home is not a place anymore.

We've been wiped off the table,

discarded handidwork.

I'm gray.

You're great.

The lights have left this city.

It cloaks the change in our

features.

There's a pounding above my brow.

There's a quaking in your stature.

I could grab your hand.

I could save what's left.

I could but I'm numb

and we are not human

anymore.