as forever

life is spacious
when young—
once sixty,
years become
months, then
rush into pure,
lively moments

each day, I think
about death,
mostly the how
and the when—
will there be pain?
can I sip the awe
of not knowing?

dawn lightens,
for a breath,
all is hushed—
then the squirrel
flicks his tail
as forever
moves closer
than ever

2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.