Friday, March 15, 2019

By the seat of my pants


There was a time when
all was planned in neat
boxes around school
schedules and papers
due and yet to be
written or graded
or published or tossed
There was a time when
all was planned in neat
seasons of time –
blowing cold, warm,
rustling leaves
bright blossoms
There was a time when
death was a nightmare
from which one would
be kissed awake and
held cuddled in the
dark by strong in-
vincible arms –
and tomorrow
was planned
and certain
to arrive
on time
there ..

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