On the Way Out


I’ve never been so
Unsettled on the
Way out. Something about the
Leaving this time makes
Me want prance on a
Trampoline– up and down
Get moving but go
Nowhere. All the lately
Scurrying hasn’t been to
Stuff away the winter’s hoard.
No. The latest dance craze
Is simply to catch
Time and spin her around
Until she’s
Grabbing at you
Giggling breathless
Unsure of herself
And tittering
The word she never
Speaks: stop stop stop.

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