Formulate

The cusp of weathers
Curls around the centre of
These days, turns calm
Into a storm of consequences
We feel for what is left
Of our lives.

We should have formulated
A plan when we had
The energy, of what to do
When that energy failed us,
Should have prepared
For these dying days
When the open skies are
Obscured by more
Than the clouds of age.

How many more eclipses,
Books, coffees, wild guesses,
And Saturdays are there?

R 14/10/2023 18:30