The Truth About Tigers

I caught myself thinking
about what I’d be like as an old man—
then saw the folly in assuming
those years will ever arrive.

There’s no use in nostalgic guesswork,
no refuge in what remains in the balance.
Both daydreams dissolve
under the lens of what is.

To traffic in futures
that never arrive
is to trace the road to suffering.

We live suspended in a series of nows—
to hold lightly,
like breath in the chest,
and then let go.