Ever the darkness, every night or 

early morn, a moment for chance, 

the time to begin.

Still, we wait.

Incessantly.

We do it again and again, enough 

or a lot or as much as we can

if we care to admit it.

Why?

Can’t a shade of mystery simply 

take hold, whether we like it 

or not?

Must we always seek familiarity?

10/21/2024                                                                                                          j.g.l.