Anchors

Awake closer to dawn today

without the requisite optimism

but with a checklist that is decent, so that will do.

I walked by a chalkboard and misread a name

as Danielle Anyway, and I thought that would be

the surrogate surname to have this summer, so feel free

to use it when you think of me.

It suggests persistence,

which has been lacking for quite some time.

 

Moments of success don’t count as much as the final victory.

 

One week in, the only thing to know is that time doesn’t

matter much now. I think I’ve realized this before, and I’m guessing

I’ll do the same again.

I get a little tired of refilling meters, and I’m

thinking maybe I’ll stop doing that.

My timelines aren’t matching up

with too many others these days,

which is open for consideration.

 

The weight is exquisite at this depth.

 

Sooner than later, we lie to ourselves,

and I keep reading these stories of those who

broke the patterns, but my interminable

tolerance of failure to fly is remarkable and damning.

 

A pause and a sigh later, let’s remember that deal we made,

even though we didn’t shake on it:

I don’t see any other way out of this place.

 

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