At half-past too many things to do
and a quarter before uneasiness
she pauses to take a breath:
the air, much like the past,
wears a musty smell
she has not been able to conquer--
it's three years past yesterday, 
a few hours before tomorrow
when morning sun will shine brightly
on the defeat etched upon her face
and on the dust that masks
all the surfaces of her life.

Even before they ring the bell,
the evangelists have seen
right through my house
to the deer out back
quietly chewing their cud,
having gotten here first
to crop the rampant weeds.