Now that there is less time

Now that there is less time,

there is anxiety,

a melancholy,

a rhapsody,

age is no longer a number,

but a calendar flip forward,

yet I am never too sure,

if I’ll live to flip another.

Space is a mundane thing,

space is short,

space is the short end of a stick timed in knots,

some I remember, most of it I do not,

or I don’t bother?

Birthday, Mantin, January, 2022