At fifty-something

I begin to feel the rising panic

 

that probably gets worse later

as I watch the days flowing much too fast       

 

white grains

once immeasurable inexhaustible cheap common

 

now spilling like diamonds down the deep well of time

and I am leaning over the side

 

grasping at the avalanche just out of reach

and I cry wait!

 

but there is no wait

only the counting of lost dreams. 

 

I should have paid more attention

learned more about art 

 

airplanes geology

theology insects   

 

even love   

I thought I knew what that was

 

but now

in the fullness of wisdom

 

I see that I know nothing

that life is always

 

one answer forward

two questions back.

 

 

A version of this poem first appeared in High Horse Poetry Magazine (2004).

Used here with the author’s permission.