so many times.a day
(and now at night,
my lantern faintly
showing me the way,
soft clouds lit up
by just a touch of moonlight,
soft air against my face)
is not without its thoughts of future -
what this place may sometime be -
but seems to have less of the past,
our forward press so steady on,
and, too, the sense of dissolution,
of all the past now found
to have been founded on illusion,
and the need to step ahead
lest my dissolving footprints
catch up to me.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 21, 2021
No comments:
Post a Comment