The Calendar

It should move faster these days.
The tug of panic
and uncertainty wanes,
and, with my older me,
the lights shine softer
than they did when youth
had me by the throat.

But these days, time stops and starts
wildly. Jerking back and forth from
full acceleration to feet
caught in honey. The night time
shines and the daytime is rubbed
like charcoal sketches in to the edges of the farthest view.

There are places in my town where houses
sit on large lots.
The view out the back is I-5.
The view out the back is Boeing field.

Softly, I think, someone watches through a kitchen window amd
waits for the approaching lights to spread across
the wall, telling them that their person arrived,
telling them their inside will settle down
until the night folds in on its self
and sings them to sleep.