I see the sun set across the river.
Shadows like hammer blows
fall on weathered homes.
A few geese float lazily.
Motor wheezing, a small boat
scatters them. One honks
like an old car.
In a chilly rain, leaves
now begin to fall,
and suddenly my wine
tastes like vinegar.
The days come and go,
and turn into another year.
I’ve hardly noticed,
and no one has noticed me.
And like those geese,
soon, I won’t even be here.