Wait's Weight
horns down June's gulley were the
Wicca of my little abdomen,
predominant of age
ever I dreaded
the wait's weight
so crushing
on that island of a lot
that is really amany,
but my memory…
how many times would little me
imagine me now,
remembering?
how would we -
before the gulley -
become so bleak
as to miss completely the
words spoken to stay so long?
the fear of impermanence
the visceral reality
the simple notion:
nothing is forever
nor can it be
nor should it