Remembering thirteen years

gone by in a memory

which takes no time at all

no none

how many times I've cut my nails

learned one new thing

forgotten

how I was young but old already

and hadn't met

the ones I've lost

did not know 

they were ahead 

if I'd learned to better read the road

I might have steered with confidence

and should I fear blinking

to wake with Alice's White King

or:

 hold my eyes closed?

the real terror is:

taking one slow breath

and peering past thought

to be aware...

   a moment, fully felt, is less than air

not even cold

but empty