Hourglass

At fifty-something
I begin to feel the rising panic

that probably gets worse later
as I watch the days flowing much too fast       

white grains
once immeasurable inexhaustible cheap common

now spilling like diamonds down the deep well of time
and I am leaning over the side

grasping at the avalanche just out of reach
and I cry wait

but there is no wait
only the counting of lost dreams. 

I should have paid more attention
learned more about art 

airplanes  geology
theology  insects   

even love   
I thought I knew what that was

but now
in the fullness of wisdom

I see that I know nothing
that life is always

one answer forward
two questions back.

And I ask
is this imminent emptiness so bad?

There is
something

in the heart
that craves open space

virginal blue sky
a smooth sea without ships

a cottage in the unpopulated wilderness
a yearning to clean closets 

toss out junk 
forget 

start over 
make room for the new. 

Perhaps hunger
is a preparing to be filled

longing
a thirsty desert flower opening to the rain

death
the last drop of wine on the lips

before the next bottle is opened
the hourglass turned.

(This poem first appeared in High Horse and subsequently in the author’s chapbook, Something to Read on the Plane, published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company in 2004.)