Around me I watch as the almost days fly
Watching the clouds as they fall past, cluttering
The ground with miniature puddles. It
Peppers my face with wet freckles and fills
my orifices with a moistness like
The apparitions of children that almost
Appear with their skipping ropes, signaling
A time for us to start to hope
For better times. Waiting for the almost
Leaves to unfurl. Wanting for the fires
Of summer to burn away the cold that
Comes from the absence of cover, leaving
Me bare and intently exposed to the
Eyes hovering over my branching body.
The millions of stars that count the almost nights
I lay under the hopeless blue skies.
Time does not consist of ultimatums
It’s a series of inconsistencies
Almost falling farther into the hole
Dug by trying roots, flailing their way to
Depths unheard of by hell, while I not quite
Feel the twisted thoughts that tumble into
My night. They leave me crawling in desperation
For the sky, away from the wanting hands
That clutch at my toes, just almost out
Of reach of their destination nowhere.
It’s the almost clearing, cleaning perfectly
A place for impatient roots longing to
Secure lost limbs, which float under this bridge
Into the dim anticipation of
These almost times.
Like dying all those nights for someone
To lie their way back into my life.
To give me strength to climb to the sunny
Possibilities of love. The perhaps
Of supporting eternity of lives,
To touch the roots of thousands when only
One can fly. To flourish in showers
Of niceties without humiliation.
To prosper in a time without odds
But I see an almost defeat, for what
Are the chances of survival to a
Sapling that cannot find her roots in
One place. All I can do is raise my head
To the deep empyrean, lying here
In these almost times watching the flowers
Of perseverance anchored safely with
Reluctant glances towards the sky above.
I know now that it is almost time to