After all, this year was closing
towards another, and the passage
of time towards another set
of numbers. But in thinking this
to myself, in the thought of time
and the thought that is another
year coming towards me, I find
myself looking at time as a wind.
Once, when I was a child and walking
to school, the wind was strongly
perpendicular to the road, and called
me towards where the cars wavered
as they passed. I was almost crying
as I struggled against the wind, once
clinging to a lamp-post, frightened
and fearful of the waiting road.
My heart was beating then, I felt it
striking deeply within with hammering
pulses. But not now, caught as I am
in the winds of time that stretch me
forwards into a rapidly approaching
year, I cannot hear the pulse
that I know is dreaming under me,
under the ribs and flesh, and my skin.
And I know that the road waits
for me, and I know that at last I shall
step upon it. But I am not so afraid
as resigned, seeking to enjoy my time
in the wind a little more each day,
even though I mourn each day passing
me into oblivion. I am prepared, though,
to let go of this lamp-post, life, hope, will.
Even though I remember walking
to school, in the perpendicular wind
that was summoning me onto the road,
I may well forget that image, and may
well keep remembering it from time
to time. Funny how life is like that,
really, sometimes we remember,
and sometimes it's lost to the wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.