Classes start again,
and I'm followed by the knowledge
that for the first time
I have missed my goal.

I have steadily written more poems each year,
by differing margins,
and I'm sad that last year,
the year with such change and emotional upheaval
should be the year I falter.

What will happen the calm years?
Will there be calm years?
Perhaps I should stretch my poetic muscles,
take up a new theme
or device to practice
for when my life is contentment
not frantic anxiety.