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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