Urgent Nothing

There was nothing to do
and I felt it urgently:
each unused minute
slipping past as if unlived.
There was the dream,
which felt more real than real--
the premonition, and then
fulfillment, in another scene:
it colored the whole day,
set everyone on edge.
It is a wastrel feeling
to have a row of hours
stretching forth, like farm lanes
empty but for the memories,
trees in even intervals, set upon
a grassy hill beside dirt roads.






April 2021