What my awareness will be
through time so unbounded
by thousand-second knowingness
I've missed a bunch or hundreds;
maybe entirely I'm deceived,
by one so fragile I took
I took believing I have lived
without regrets I but mistook;
what there tommorrow I'll bring
without a yesterday's tear
without a yesterday's promise
of what my yesterday fears;
have fear even stumbled;
or stepped a foot in depth
upon my time I wrapped nowhere
yet truly never left;
perhaps, the world is neither
neither my time nor living,
neither my knowingness before
I misconceived what I'm missing;
or what there has been either
either absent or just passing,
either likely to be loved...
to be only soon forgotten;
for what shall I seek;
when doors are half-open
my palms, half-closed
my hopes--half-hoping;
shall I step beneath these
these times I never lived;
or lived so doubtful, lived so free
lived still aching what I forgave.
