Today I'm making time for fragments

of memories, with a blowing dust: pinching

nose, the way leaves fold new beginning

but you remain as the same dust,

like December 3rd.

Today I'm thinking about the sunlight,

the way it quaffed like vintage wine,

but I'm delighted with the fresh juice,

where winter arcs with infinite

possibilities.

Today, I'm patient without rushing hours

or running after the bus, not-so-getting

chided for chiming out minutes of my life,

I'm thinking about the fire of my heart,

How easy it is to lose yourself in touch!

Today I'm making peace with my lost time,

for the minutes that slipped by,

for the scorning of next moment,

I'm letting it go for another summer,

where December didn't hold back.

Today, I'm the same as I was in last

December, but most certain of the

rigidness of time, where stars didn't

forget yet moonlight fell on my arms,

I'm bypassing another winter arc with

the same but different version.

Today I'm making time tea for myself,

where the hope rang for several hours,

but I'm not holding anything back, for

another house—a thought but despair.

Today the world is different than dreams,

But I let the sunlight seep around my feet,

Fragments blown to and fro, I'm weaving

about the remaining piece: for I'm still

the same as December teased.

— 1st December, 2024.