Sunday, October 16, 2016


By the time you turn thirty-four
Another northern summer will be done.
The energy gathered and ordered
And stored will litter the quieter ground.
There are transitions that swell us
Slowly, transitions that let us go

Tumbling thoughtlessly through blue air,
Holding no attachments there.

By the time you turn thirty-four,
The color already down in the Slocan,
Yellow aspens mantling south Utah mountains,
We may know the answers to a few questions
That puzzle us mightily now, may have
Forgotten much, much more. Every thing

That spins in celebration carves the air
And leaves a question hanging there.

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