Great Regulars: The older we get, the less pressing

the past and future become, the more our memories and expectations blur, the more time tricks and treats us, much like children in the end--homebound ghosts and goblins in the dark, haunted and haunting, free of old grievances, grateful for momentary, abundant, undeserved gifts.

The older we get, likewise, the less we seem to count. Which accounts, I suppose, for the title of this 15-line poem.

from The Washington Post: Poet's Choice: "Refusing at Fifty-Two to Write Sonnets" by Thomas Lynch

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