I came across a notebook today that I hadn't seen in many years. It was in a box filled with notebooks with familiar writing on them, writing that I recognized as mine.  One of the books had the title on the front... Poems... and then near the bottom was my name. 

Monday, July 2, 1990

What a mystery time is,

Gluing as it does all the pieces of our lives together…

As sure it is as death and taxes

Yet not dependable,

Betraying all of us finally

By making us wish and hope tomorrow will come

Just to disappoint us when we’re finally there.

Sometimes I see the thread of it

Unraveling faster and faster,

Taking away the fabric of my life

Until finally there will be nothing left

But books of verses and photographs

And perhaps a few students with memory

Who will say, sure, he was here…

I saw him myself.

But finally even that memory will vanish

And the earth will go on spinning

As always… as always… as always.