i am fleeing an old year
and the new year hovers
like a gathering storm
that puts fire to my feet
like lightening like
all my wild dreams make
easier to imagine
myself not-yet-self
at sixtyfive and
seventyfive and seventysix
even eightyplus so
i am fleeing an old year
and i hope what i love and i
long for won’t incinerate me
Early Morning Poems 