on this january 26

I stand here

in the permanent instant

and fret january 27


why?

it won't be different

(how could the eternal

be other than it is?)


and when I'm mired in

january 27

what will I long for

that will be other than the despair


of pondering god and the wondrous

paradoxes that kill us little by little daily?








Content (c) 2008-2016 Philip Milito.