Twenty-six is not that young:
old enough to list college degrees,
linear work experience,
the promise of marriage.
By now, I should forego
bad poem topics, save
documents, rewrite the cluttered
phrase.
Clay centers carved,
or is the center silhouetted,
cracked?
I am on time and in time.
Urgency grows, demands
that I confront time.
One hundred visions and revisions
That a moment will unwind…
