Cherry blossoms sometimes curl, dry, and fly away
Plans crash amongst the tides despite our calm agendas
Who said there’d be no wicked winds
What sacred book of days ever promised perfect
We arrive and pass this way on our way to leaving
Fruit and blue-green golden hours coursing through our veins
What if I befriended time
Then took its outstretched hand
Separation was no more
Despite life’s shifting sand
Daytime, nighttime were as one
Without the fear of loss
Silver seconds, yearnless years
And age no bridge to cross
I beckon thee to join with me
In unrelenting drive
To put away some thought of death
To embrace what’s alive
Each minute is a golden hour
Each breath a pulsar day
When time gives us its outstretched hand
We must not look away
In New York I know
It is an hour later
Here there are souls a swayin’ now
Gliding
To White Rabbit, Creeque Alley
Golden oldie Boomer ilk
Some defiant steps
Of a generation
Keeping me awake
But ill-equipped to face Monday Monday
LisaRosier.com 