Scrapbook Days

When fortune shuts

her twinkling eyes

on all we’ve ever known,

when our universe crashes down

like hung-head guests at final rites,

as chaos usurpues all order and reason,

as swarms of reality consume our

long-sustained illusions,

run to the shelter of my hands,

let your fears melt into my arms,

listen closely as I whisper us back

to scrapbook days

where the only pictures

are of you and I

fleeing the end of times

under sun-lit skies.