Dawn

I watch the routine rise
of a blazing diamond
behind Stonehenge.

Years
engraved along furrows
of my ribcage,
resemble the prehistoric earthwork.

Lonely
afternoon strolls,

chilly winds seep through
my thinning hair.

Days are empty,

bordered by
an opening tag in the east,
and a closing tag in the west;

I keep looking eastward.