Days

Inhale.

I'm here
while I'm often not
here and often lost,
walking tender and soft
my prayers melt
like sadness in fairy floss,
here and often lost
in the midst of
daydreams and dewdrops.

Stumbling I go

believing I know

I fear to be wrong

shipped to the universal store
of projections and comfort.

Exhale.
A pause. 

                          Far from getting close.

 The present is gone.         

Past after twelve,

I grow gray.

Think about death.

Have pimples on my face.

Insecurity takes center stage.
Can't stand the wait
patience runs off with haste.
Time doesn't care

which path I take.

It's hard to understand

there is no end.

Inhale exhale inhale exhale inhale

By 7 am
my eyes are red,
I forgive myself
born again
and begin to race

Exhale.