This I Presume
Once upon a time,
so long ago that I remember nothing of it
but only presume of its existence --
the universe smiled gently
and I laughed, and opened my small arms to welcome it.
I realized the world for what it was
(or so I thought):
enticing only to slide away, quite unexpectedly,
pulling in its wake my dream of the moment
(though after a time I learned to expect this,
and only the form of withholding
was my dull sickening surprise).
Now I am older and sad, and perhaps wise
and I am learning that
I fretted overmuch about justifiable concerns
and not enough about the absurd.
That has a way of flailing gleefully out of nowhere
and landing, with a thud, on plans of the moment --
But some still-innocent and unconcerned part of me says:
Ah, but my dreams go unmolested!
(I have learned to make them sufficiently abstract,
the cynic inside me explains.)
The world waits yet to welcome me --
This I presume.