Dawn

Three months into six months
To live, there hasn’t been
Much dramatic decay,

Although, oddly, the squad
Of thoughts, trouble in mind,
Has grown haphazardly

Anxious, random moments
About time left right now.
You may sit in cool dawn

Of a loose day, reason
To relax with angels—
Who can be like you, free

Of work and effort, so
Much free time? For no good
Reason you freeze, thinking,

Something’s almost gone now,
But you can’t think of what.
It goes, and you feel fine.