The wind is shaking the trees and blowing through the hair
of people walking to their destinations
like the world is going to end if they don't make it
in time.

I cautiously say this because
I am one of them, running from place
to place -
anxiety storms around me like the gust.

I imagine those who don't make it in time,
frozen cold by the closing of a door.
Or brokenhearted by a hand in someone else's.
What happens after that?
What happens if these people don't make it in time?

God knows time won't wait.