There will be no falling, this time,
into the end of the year,
no tumbling of untallied days,
no cache of uncounted hours
to not expect, but then to have
for languid wandering through paths
of memory . . .

These days are still measured,
still ordered — needed for the steady
mounting for the launch,
in rising hope,
into the next ascent.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 29, 2013