for so many years,
so it's probably time
to take it down.
Maybe I will run into you
on the street, in a restaurant,
or a bookstore one day
when we are both old and gray.
I always go to the poetry section first,
and work my way from there,
but there will be no more Sylvia Plath
in the mail.
Every day there are young people
flooding Manhattan and Brooklyn,
looking for inspiration,
finding our forever.
My daughter will be one of them,
depending on where her dreams take her,
and she will find mistakes and loves,
like us.
Now that I am
on the sweaty side of 40,
about to add cancer to my tale,
it is again time to tackle newness and air.
No more blog content here,
because I have to let the memory loose
to float away
on the cloudy horizon.
I am not
going anywhere
but I am
moving on.