(C) 2021 Howard Dart Humeston
Distant whippoorwills’ whistles
racing through the forest
swirling and gathering in the meadow
where I stand on the border of today and tomorrow.
The evening fog rises and thickens
twisting about the ankles of my soul.
I sense more than feel
the moisture of the darkness
permeating my skin, my mood, with melancholy flavors of regret.
Icy dread scampers up my spine as I fear
an army of regret will shatter my mind’s heart
weaken the legs of my determination.
I sigh, resigned to the knowledge that I will continue
creating more regrets day by day
as I puddle through life
a thing I am not at all adept at.