Lament At Two AM
To build the city of Dioce…
Time grows short, shadows long. Some days, fatigue, deep as a grave. No ease to age. Things fail and losses mount. To maintain a steady tongue in the face of decades, no small effort. The old voice lifts itself each morning and tries to weave more living sentences, even as the body shuffles on toward death. So difficult to write the truth, or even grasp it. Forgive these faltering attempts, little birds that often fail to fly. Forgive the words never spoken. Forgive the unsung songs. No lifetime lasts long enough. No mind contains all the notes. No ears sharp enough to learn every score. May the world forgive what remains undone, all that I could never be, the words that will never speak through me.
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The squirrels have lost their nuts. Sad…
