The radio is singing Don Williams
filling the room with baritone brilliance.
And the rain treads softly on the roof.
The warm lights with their yellow hue
shine on the book in my arm
as I gaze out into the far.
My mind wanders: into the past,
damn, the times fly fast;
to the future filled with maybe’s,
would be’s, and the could be’s;
and let’s not forget the what-if’s.
Imperceptibly slow, yet blazingly fast.
The moment, though, doesn’t last.
I get pulled to the moment
heaving a longing sigh…
for if we can live now, in the future
we don’t have to look back with sutures
remembering it’s a present to be present.