thoughts fluttering
scattered like falling leaves
only I can’t seem to rake them up
and put them in neat piles

gasping, grasping
trying to form letters into words, into phrases
coming up with gibberish and lunacy
which may be OK since that describes my Monday

Tuesday has no excuse for taking more than it gives
while it is not thrilling like Thursday
so close to the freedom of Friday

I don’t want to focus on time as it stands or as it passes
except the lines being drawn on my face
tell more of my story than I’d intended

fall has always been scattered
while spring seems quieter
but then there is that pesky problem
of time again

if we just feast on senses and not schedules
will our bodies take control
despite what our cumbersome brains tell us
and will we become animals reveling in anarchy

or can we listen to our bodies
feel nature as we encounter it
and not question why but how and perhaps find more enjoyment

living like children
with simple faith and open hands and brutal honesty
not bemoaning every event and how it might ruin us but expecting joy and surprise

am I really that scattered or am I more in tune
with the child I once was and refuse to forget to be
I see time but am not captive by it
and am constantly questioning and rarely surprised

if I stop and acknowledge seasons changing
time being printed on my face
will I be forced to grow up or can I remain a child
because I would like to stay open and joyful