Disaster flashes against my inner mind,
possibilities that almost desire to be made true.
I resist.

Dread reality settling its cold fingers on me,
desperation flagging the driveway of my mind,
No entry.

Longing fleetingly reminds me
what exactly it is that might be missing.
The future.
My future.

There is no self-vision of next year,
or even five years after that.
It eludes me.
I falter.

Oh, for warm hands to lift
this translucent heart.

© Johanna Fugitt 2017