Compose it now, as a guarantee of surviving
this turbulent age, take it out for reassurance
when you need it most,
like a fifth of vodka,
of an appaloosa mare,
calling to you from across the pasture.
Recollections of the moon rising over the barn
will be an antidote to dreary job histories,
each with a useless 401k,
counterpoint to dishwashing
that never failed to spill over
the sides of your hamper.
Memories of your little brother and sister
shrieking across the meadow
where a black bull grazed,
oblivious, will sustain you.
Remember why you loved the lake at night,
and wanted to walk closer to its shore—
the silence. So complete,
like the earliest days of the lake’s existence.
Images of family, siblings, children,
husbands and lovers you can safely let go,
assume they are waiting for you, somewhere.