Another time

There where they watch you
Ancient
Eyes closed
From another time.
They stroke your face
Skin toughened by sun.
Wrinkled deep like
Mud cracks in a dry river bed
Crossing some primordial
Landscape.
They run their tiny soft fingers
Down your bony arms
Across calloused hands that
Never softened.
Wondering if you were
Ever young.
Not knowing that behind
Those cloudy closed eyes
You still dream.