dryrot and knots

and slipping thoughts
twisting through slivers of sand and permafrost blues...

i have gotten used to the notion
of tomorrow
of blue skies and blackbirds
and long summer days
and kites chasing clouds
but those days tend to be tomorrow
and here, now,
we climb long flights of stairs to grey ceilinged overcast heights
perched above everything yet somehow smothered
by the pressing reality of now.

and now, like tomorrow, always will be,
whether today is blue or not,
whether the grass is fresh or not,
whether there are holes in my socks or shiny boat shoes on my feet.