Where can I find a place to park
my unused dreams? So short the days
that light my steps into that dark
awaiting all. It's mine to raise
from the rubble-strewn road, my gaze
to peer within; to face the sore
choice of being. Before it frays
let me take up the strands, restore
the weave, of life in disarray. More
than darts and arrows, flesh'n marrow
knit and repair, even the score
with fortune. At least I hope so.
The missteps I've made show in stark ways
where the path to make my mark lays.