Rilke said the air cannot be held

The Maple trees are shining 
with late winter gray. Lovely
twilight, the time of confusion, 
is turning the sky into layers 
of blue and lavender. 

This landscape is always familiar, 

because there are places

you recognize the first time 

you see them and you know, 

though you don't want to 
....the directions were buried 
in one of your brain's

compartments and the images

are tightly folded in a 
space inside.

This morning, standing in the

bathroom, I looked out the door

and thought about how many

times I got up fast, hurrying

for practices, lay there worrying

about how to get it all done and

what to do first, or, not enough,

woke up enjoying the peace

of waking, surrounded by family.

I can almost see it in the warm air

left over from a night of sleeping,

swirling over the top of rumpled

pillows, the bedspread not yet

pulled tight. Then, it's gone.

No matter how I was...mindful,

time is gone. It's my fault. 

I think of mindful as a bargain 
to be made with time. If I 
would just be mindful, time 
would slow or stay with me,

longer. It hasn't worked yet. 

I'm thinking now, time is 
more like air, taking on warmth 
and breath, dissolving all into 
an invisible sea. Felt as 
mysterious currents brushing by, 
seen as beauty in the tinted air 
of twilight.