Whatever we expect from it,
every door 
shares the same threshold:
the unknown.

We see it for how it’s framed—
by hopes or concerns.

Three hundred sixty-five—
spaces on a calendar year
keep one planning,
hopeful and worried,
hopeful and worried.

Time’s book,
we read just a portion,
try to 
glimpse ahead.
What’s to come?

All we can do is go line-by-line,
braving the unknown,
each turning page
like the opening of a door.



Poem 10: during National Poetry Writing Month.

Considering future.



Joining those writing a poem a day during NaPoWriMo. 






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