Two days to the equinox. I can count it in hours now. As though it’s important.
I ran under a blue sky this morning and could see the moss-covered tree trunks, the rings in the water. The dog ran faster than usual, and is now sleeping on the couch in the other room. I can picture him there, from here.
Oh, to be my age and still clinging to images
wanting to hold them as evidence of a real life
these still lifes, these dead moments
past or imaginary, equally irrelevant.
I hear the birds singing, feel the cold on my neck
and I try to accept it –
and there it goes. And here I type
wanting it to be meaningful
evidence of a real life.