Overcast days sip
the palette of youth
until hair and skin
turn into clouds.
His eyes shine inward

now, glimpse past
the curve of hollow nights
to soft drifts
of colors slipping
in and out of sunlight,

memory to slate,
world to shifting world.
Moments pulse
through his veins,
pulling him further

toward the deeper shadows.
The departed ones return
their calla lilies to him,
holding light and time
in their hands.