…No, not that it’s incredible, but more like, is it sustainable;
the years and the advancements marching in red suits
unaccountably happy to have their shoes free of fear…
…A hand, and a sliding, two maybe three moments passing,
and me guessing that a meander is as much a plan as any
other planning; under the sun working.
…I knew; as a child even, that a time would come to ask
“Will there be a later, a sprinkle or a mist or a rain to cool
what is hot in me, what wants not to burn in me?”
…Or, and this is vital, even if it becomes unimportant later,
unknowable even – are there aspects of tomorrow already
moving slow enough to remember any of this?
Poetman Turns 53, Now Say, Happy Birthday…