At what point did the present stop
Being present and become the future?
I wake and I am no longer secure
In the bedclothes as I’ve always been.
Nothing threatens, but there is nothing,
No one, I can safely rely on either.
Was it just another tick of the clock?
The one too many? The fatal one?
Is it only what I’ve lost, beckoning,
Being ignored, rescinding sanctions
Of such long standing I’ve forgotten
How crucial they were to my senses?
Time? Or self? No, what I now fear
Is the two become the same thing --
A last fling, a dance that whirls me from
My partner’s arms into dimming air.
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