Convinced.

It was well before morning almost a year ago:

“You got to do something, you just do,
before you know it you wake up and you’re 40.”

An old memory back with the first Happy
Birthday to tell me it was right again.

It was a hotel outside of Concord, Massachusetts,
Closer to a shopping mall than Walden Pond.

But close enough to see, just yesterday at sunset,
Birds flying from the pond’s shore, where everyday

Tourists who live a few miles away were
Diving in headfirst in swim caps and goggles:

Like insects smacking into
Pages of a history book made

With sheets
Of flypaper.

Well before morning almost a year
Ago and not surprised to find

Friendship,
Loneliness,

Love,
And

What Home
Might mean,

Casting
Shadows

And
Shapes

On this hotel ceiling.
Above this hotel bed.

Covered by this hotel white
Puff comforter, full of more air

Than
Comfort.

Not surprised to turn on
My quiet flashlight,

At my customary time, and join
My intended laptop at the table,

To write about:

The
Juxtaposition

Of the birds of Walden Pond,
To this hotel so covered

In
Scaffolding

I couldn’t read its name from the street.

“You gotta do something, you just do,
before you know it you wake up and you’re 40.”

Then a voice from 20 years ago:

“If you’re a poet when you’re 20, it’s because you’re 20;
if you’re a poet when you’re 40, it’s because you’re a poet.”

When you’re up before the birdsong,
Before the sunrise of your 40th birthday,

And it’s just another lifelong everyday
Morning that has you writing on

Friendship,
Loneliness,

Love
and,

What Home
Might mean,

And everyone you know is sleeping in a house with family,
Or under an empty comforter you just walked away from;

And they all think you’re awake
Because: You don’t need the sleep.

You are doing something,
And you most definitely,

Quite
Seriously,

Are
Convinced.