Forgive me,
for this delayed flight.
I’m told,
my best years are behind me.

But I’ll forgive you
for this short sight.
There’s things you
cannot see.

If it doesn’t come tomorrow,
and it hasn’t come today,
and you can’t predict the next six months,
I’ll forgive you for thinking
that all great things
were built yesterday.

If you’ll forgive me,
when I come into focus—
a lamp flickering against the dark night—
it’s just me at twenty-six years old,
reclaiming the years
I lost my light.