there was once a time we elite
knew what that meant
and I once believed i was that

probably the last of my generation

even so
was it ever the way i remember it

i forget the color of your eyes
downcast as they are
caught in the glare of your cell phone screen
your conversation is an enigma
of iconery and shorthand
your voice the chime of bells
and musical phrases
never songs

i soften the hard ground
with my faulty memory
the smell of dirt
the butterflies the bees
where are they now

I thought i saw you yesterday
a college student
but how could that be
you must be as old as i am now

©A. D. Joyce, 2019