Days are doting
from blurry mornings
Time is doing
its usual thing.
Running and ditching,
like how we chase, afraid of
not reaching the 99 —
look how it’s fleeting.
Fast a week in and
I’d say, “Stop counting.”
Riding, driving,
Eating, immersing
In the blue wide west;
a coast happily rests
at its state —
Forever in her
Twenties
stretching, ready;
forming and delving into
its absolute splendid
Best.
