our tenuous truth

we are all full 

of dread

to be shaken from these

bones aching in 

the morning; cast open

the blinds and let

the light in

my heart flutters

and most 

mornings are met with

ready to try again

ready to let the day

wrap around me as a

something familiar but with

possibility comes from practice

making perfect the rising

numbers and anxiety;

there's no denying

truth solves nothing

is to be solved

personally

we all must move

in good faith forward to some

unknown horizon

and a new dawning

eventually will arrive

the destination less a goal

more an abstraction to which

we pursue

an idea

always important to be

moving toward something

not to distract, but to 

focus

on the present 

is a gift

never for granted; taken

but in this plague time

moves far too slowly if dwelling

on the torpid present

always leading somewhere else

we must balance this

being, here

dissipating as quickly as acknowledged

our tenuous truth

of constant change

these mornings come so early

Cool, relatively and calm

certainly 

Without;

the soundtrack of instinct and carelessness

of moving to the unheard

rhythm of instinct

My so many neighbors

about their business

of living another summer morning

as any other passed

Memories, I imagine

to them 

only serving as guide rails for

an unthought 

Future.

Has the lane narrowed so much

that moving forward is

impossible unthought future

They risk without ever knowing

how they’ve learned

No time to dwell

Here is gone

and past before

you can even consider

Now is a link

closing as quick as thought

of an unbroken chain

connecting the first 

Summer morning

to this sunspeckled maybe

Of a day that I’ll remember

as I do so many

passed.