Streams of days handed to me raw
no schedules or plans or commitments
vast hours stretching out for months
it’s the most deceptive sort of time

I putter more than I should
how wild the way a day can gallop
as minutes scamper into corners
out of reach of best intentions

It’s evening now, another week gone
the last of a year of open time
I am trying to count on my fingers
all the circles I’ve run
while I tried to fill the hours.

 

POEM: © Iz Mazano
PICTURE: Daniele Levis Pelusi on Unsplash

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