Their thoughts like geysers erupted into the cool night air.
We sauntered in their mist—
Every second on the second—
Gallons of verbiage.
One day I will take a walk and it will be too quiet—
The only hand left to hold will be Time’s.
I will stop and close my eyes—
I shall stand amongst a thousand geysers—
I will be old, alone, and smiling.