by Jean A. Kiser

    On nights like this
    When I'm tired
    But cannot sleep,
    When the future
    Is a puzzle,
    I pull the blinds
    Up so that the moon
    Enters the room with
    Her bright face and full-
    Body promises.

    I have always
    Practiced this ritural,
    First participating
    When I was a teen
    And lived two towns away.
    Even then I questioned the future,
    Asked what I will become
    In my old age, asked if I'd live
    To at least fifty-five.

    Now, as neck and spine crack
    And new medicines
    Work to take hold
    Of old bones, I grow
    Closer to the moon.
    The questions are different,
    Yet the same.
    Again I think of the future.
    My wish is to complete
    One book of poems.
    And I never ask when,
    Or how late.

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