
Still early, it’s only three thirty
I’ve got a few more hours to go
I savor remaining moments
each time they come
Younger I’d pack
a life into each
With a will so great
I could make that happen
Compress
spans of life
A run-on string
at the tail-end
I run my palm
over a small rise
on an otherwise
perfect face
When the time comes
she will lift my last finger from the grip
and I will slip from the jamb
© Chagall 2013
