In planning for just past today
the now, the this,
the games to play.
I look upon my velvet box a
dream of more of
something lost...
of sitting still
of being me
of understanding
who I'll be.
Taking hold and singing songs
matching wits
with butterflies
and catching dreams
just flitting by.
Holding back to meet
the sky
making sundaes,
drinking wine.
And I'll resolve for
something new
to clasp my hand
and pull me through
the roughness that might overpower
and knock me down hour
by hour
Rushing on to meet the day
when dust to dust
I've gone away.
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