Buy Mist In The Canyon
©1999 Linda Paquette
Mind races towards tomorrow.
Though when it becomes today
It remains for only hours
Then slips into yesterday.
Living in today
I stumble
Like a drunk
On a tightrope in new shoes.
The slip inevitable.
Falling, failing,
All the same.
I fall and fail and flail at air.
Arms reach out.
Unfeathered wings
Fingers grasping at the string
Elastic gossamer
Fragile stretching
Thread unraveling
I look down to see
The net of yesterday’s memory
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