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A window-paned pattern
For sixty years
The sun has been invited in
By the yellow Cosco table
Brightening a cabin breakfast
© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins
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To run out of time Knowing There’s not enough time At a certain age After much has been done Little is left Nothing awaits Expectations met Yet Something is missing Snatched away, Actually But to regain That being denied To reclaim, to undo To heal Takes time There’s not enough time I’m afraid At a certain age© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
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A fly buzzes Hitting the screen Wanting in Wanting out In hot, damp air A ceiling fan Hangs Lifeless Spots of moisture Here and there On floor, on table Sweat, tears, or both Silently, stupidly A phone awaits Replies To unanswered calls Birds singing Unheard Beautiful flowers Unseen On the horizon A cloud A single cloud Coming or going Bleakness, dejection Momentary But recognized A fly buzzes© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
—∞—
The threshold Of the future Is pulled forward Slowly and surely Second by second Or stands still As the past Slips away Retreating fitfully But never completely Our yesterdays linger Sometimes Directly behind Taunting Or back around a dim corner Barely accessible If warm and pleasant Abruptly intrusive Uninvited If unhappy or filled with regrets But what of our tomorrows? Sometimes Filled with hopes and dreams Or other times with dread Uncertainty Days and years Lying ahead Our dwelling place To be Fleetingly or longer Yet, they are Empty Years Waiting to be filled By us or circumstance Health, family Resources, friends A spiritual foundation A sense Of the Other All shape A life to come But, really, isn’t it now, The present, That will ultimately decide? Our sense of self Now Our willing to be Now Our gratitude – now Isn’t that what shapes us, Now, and in the years to come? How we view the past Our acceptance of self and others A willingness to be present© 2013 Thomas W. Cummins
A momentary tear in the fabric of the universe: our Sunday New York Times delivery has been delayed. Does that mean possibly not at all?
I sure have become accustomed to that treat on the quiet mornings of the 8th day.
A copy is available online, but it’s just not the same.
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