red night

to draw a neat circle
around the facts of life
that there are still days
when theres no one at the helm
and life is real and urgent and ticking
through days years lifetimes
in agonizing fear of decision
trundling along on my little broken flotsam boat
living on my little piles of assumptions
unable to tell right from wrong
gathering speed with each darkness
gravity with every loss
windchimes along the age lines
slower less possible less apparent
all I hope for is to forget
and keep forgetting