Ten to Go

April 20, 2004

My son in the throes of morning happiness,
German Shepherd whines to go out,
cats rub up against me for food,
birds twitter, cars pass,
water fills the bath,
as a new day is unveiled.

But as I slightly know
that this is happening,
I envision airplanes,
airports, car rental lots,
hotels, the last stop
that I will make out West,
and the countdown goes on in my head.

A little faith
will head me out the door
in a jet, on a Friday.
Love of the Unknown
will push me, and I
will soar, empty-handed
into that fog of hope.

I live out the future
in the present.
Ever increased
dog whines, cat circlings,
child giggles, and bathwater splashes
are obscured by the obsession
with what is to come.