I saw my Grandpas watch today,
twas new in the rectangle box,
a large glass face reflected
round, like the eye of a morning fox.
It was the watch they wore, he said,
as they flew high over head,
from Germany to Bulgaria,
many hours over the land.
He thinks back to so long ago,
memories like coffee, at arms length,
or in this case, a curve of the wrist
is the only space one needs.
How the rings of time are spun
the memories shadows, and solitary ones
dance in the light of the aged mind,
the present is ere, the past holds the time.