Daisies at Dusk

You get tired, or do I?
These days are so busy
my eyes turn to glass;
the friction of years
melted the sand in them
and now they rest, so
I can see only the future
clearly; the present warps.

And also my joints, did you know?
In the long rain
of our journey together
with cracked knees the water
seeped in and made rust.
I was running with roses
to your warm arms at dawn
and now I bring you and barely
daisies at dusk.