These days the sun goes down too soon
and the leaves come as waves 
and settle in puddles so pretty 
we want to drag our feet as we did once, 
on our way to vote with mom, who reminds us 
we’ll ruin our school-shoes, and wasn’t she right? 
Now, no longer our frivolous
former selves, heedless of the approaching night, 
we lift our feet and chide ourselves 
for all we’ve wanted—just a little more light.
Still we do nothing to slow time’s passing,
stop the sun as it falls into the trees,
end another day, thank the almighty’s penchant
for providing and letting us along for the ride. 
 
Years later, and still we pull the curtain closed
and choose like innocents—
then always arrive sort of nowhere, except 
for this odd moment we buy the myth whole,
the imagined peace and quiet of our lives. 
Still, there are people out beyond this grammar school gym—
70 million, by last count—convinced we’re so wrong, 
and some eager to do us harm—our feuding kin.
Try as we might to stay open to possibility—
a new world, promised and maybe now delivered,
they wait for the sun to go down,
disguised as the shadows of trees,
Cossacks who follow us home.
The slow clomping of their horses on cobblestone
makes a throbbing sound.
					

A feature in Microsoft Windows that allows the user to revert their 
computer's state . . .  to that of a previous point in time, which 
can be used to recover from system malfunctions or other problems.
            
Given the rate of decay—
memory, word-recall,
such a small percentage
of what we’ve loved remains
intact, even as we look in the mirror
and examine the lines on the graph that is our face,
or study photos of who we’ve been
before parts had been removed
and then the body stitched back together
though never again made truly whole.
No wonder we’ve come to rely  
on System Restore  to find that one place
from the great and false imagined past
where we can settle and promise ourselves—
and everyone we’ve ever loved—
that this time we’ll try so much harder
to make everything right.