Forward/Back, Part Two, Or
A Present Such as This
I used to think the looking back would bring about
the looking forward, would be it’s own
reward, a thing to hold on to
forever, and permanent —
the having done, the having sung, the having been.
but even using the most brain-wracked
bean, I can now barely recall a
more straight-backed
me, when I felt
every day was only another day to love.
yesterday at the park, a cat: darted out from behind a tree
& I ignored that Bald Man, chased that critter, free
like I had done years
ago, thought:
this is what it was to be alive.
but that had only been an alive then, and
not an alive I know now, which is
an alive I knew not how
to know
until a present such as this.
where the trees are only here to cast shadows
on the wall, & for us only to see them
& not miss anything
at all:
this moment, this air, this bliss.
