The car snakes round bend after bend
to travel the long journey home.
Grief sidles up to me, like a thief in the night
to steal my breath, and the present moment.
Through the rear-view mirror, time is displaced
as brother and sister become my brother and I.
Like Russian dolls, each generation
a reflection of the last.
I wonder, when is it written
upon our hearts, or our souls
the time we will depart this world?