I have never owned my life
—it’s all on loan from the Universe anyway—
choosing instead to pay
periodically
for packages to be delivered and
opened, like Pandora’s box
setting free the next mysterious chapter.

Still paying gratefully for what
I purchased in the past
still in debt to the present
the future hasn’t been ordered yet
I’ve always been an impulse buyer.

Only in the rear-view mirror
can I see it all unfolding
with antic connectedness
and random digressions.

The old goat in me is still alive
still sniffing the electric scent
of the next best thing
in and out of love
anarchic
rebelling against boredom.

Still setting out on voyages by moonlight,
I catch my eye in the mirror
and think “not bad, you old pirate.”