A Wrong Turn

Now

Fate’s clown asked why and laughed we could not be.

He gushed that now is different, but then would be the same:

there – with me – the when that’s time for running,

hope’s haunt and fearful habits made.

In that needful, broken want you cried,

And in answer to your weeping ask, I gave –

We only take our moments as we can:

some on that lazy drift of the tide of days and

some snatched joyously from the clawing hands of

loss and lonely expectation.

The surging crowds that chatter and growl would drown us.

Instead we cling to that small, mocked voice,

brave and known and still in the whirl of words,

that voice that knows tomorrow and begs for now,

painting us in exultant whispers.

We live.

We breathe.

We will see clearly.