Under a blue sky     today     at lunchtime I will eat
gently charred chicken    cooked over hot coals
I will count my summer swallows and sip
at a cold beer
                    Yesterday is so much dead meat
My eyes are focused on the future       the path
through the final thorns       leading all the way to
the finishing line      whatever that might be
         How strange
                    to have no ambition      other than
for the prospects of what might unfold with
every breath       Time lives and dies with us
so too does love           and all things cherished
I will not gather dandelions    nor count each
wayward butterfly that flutters into my life
the nectar I have garnered
                                 sustains my soul

John Lyons