Half Spent
by A. A. Parr
for Jodi

Each day you remain
sips from the glass
wet on the pane
clambering beyond
what you thought
could be yours:

don’t forget to
chase those streams
dart past the windmill
of time’s infortuna,
of the beaches cobbled together
with bracken, with half spent firewood,
with longing.

Don’t forget
these are your days,
they fleet,
they are fleeting, they
are fleeing the places
you once called home, they are
loud and they are ready-

are you?

Please subscribe to keep reading.