Bygone Days

I am swimming
through fog
cataracts the culprit.

Arms flail ahead of me
grasping at wisps
prepared to wrestle
bone and muscle
matching a foe’s
hearty advance --
yet nothing is there
except imagination

a blank in time
where snowballs
and children combine
for a return match.

Eyes are blurred --
reality and fantasy
more than a hiccup
of modern living.

© Richard L. Provencher