Monday, February 3, 2025

GETTING OLD

In the cold 
pointless rain 
of an infertile February, 

it gets difficult 
to concentrate

as all sound 
grows thin—

impossible to harmonize 
the last year 
of my life 

with the speculative fictions 
peeling off the wind. 
Is this still 

the new year? 
And who is 
to say?—

each day, just as 
fathomless 

as every 
other day.