every once in a while
I stand on this island of time
without purpose or intent
unmoored from my craft
cut off from my history
it is a lonely place
this unknown fog-wrapped shore
where yesterday has disappeared
tomorrow seems out of reach
and I am not sure of my path
or if my call will be answered
until now I have been allowed
after a little while
to return home
to my clear-skied mainland
where my mind and I
hug each other in relief
and play again
in the sandbox of my elderhood
as if being whole
were a holiday gift
to be treasured
© Vilma Ginzberg, 02-16-2022