Wait's Weight

horns down June's gulley were the Wicca of my little abdomen, predominant of age

ever I dreaded the wait's weight so crushing on that island of a lot that is really amany, but my memory…

how many times would little me imagine me now, remembering?

how would we - before the gulley - become so bleak as to miss completely the words spoken to stay so long?

the fear of impermanence the visceral reality the simple notion:

nothing is forever nor can it be nor should it