Mañana

You think about manana.
You think about tomorrow
and the hours that fill
the time in between.
Symptoms of a craziness
that reflects nothing
concrete, nothing real.
And there you are –
sitting beyond a stare,
waiting for the reflex.
A slow drip.
A slow suppose.
Drifting out there
in the dying light.
Tomorrow, manana
and whatever else
out there is calling.
Calling for you,
with mystic optimism.


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