There’s a clarity that comes with age,
confusion on the run

The light much brighter deep inside,
no writing on the come

My youth endeavors, drifting lines,
those hedges where I’d hide

Have all been trimmed or taken down,
left nothing to deny

There’s a clarity that comes with age,
lens sharpened, filters off

Regrets left bleeding where they fell,
to die amongst the frost

When morning comes my eyes are clear,
the past a long goodbye

My vision focused on my dreams
—no longer asking why

(Bryn Mawr College: April, 2020)