A Day at the Beach

We foresee our deaths

sacrifice the days one after the other to a slow motion panic
believing if we are senseless in a consistent and calm manner

that we can’t be blamed for not being ready for the only thing
we knew was coming

If time moves in a wave then behind us
foams a wake of wasted moments wasted the moment

we look back given up to the future day that never asked for sacrifice
and that never arrives

and if it did would never be any longer than a wasted day

How is it that giving up on a dream translates always
in any language into not doing something we could do

today in the wakeful world right now instead
we plant the sharp end and open slowly the gorgeous umbrella

of panic beneath the sun of death