... is a poet I discovered when I was at NYC earlier this
month ...
Provisional eternity
A man and a woman lay in bed. “Just one more time,” said the
man, “just one more time.” “Why do you keep saying that?” said the woman.
“Because I never want it to end,” said the man. “What don’t you want to end?”
said the woman. “This,” said the man, “this never wanting it to end.”
When I turned a hundred
I wanted to go on an immense journey, to travel night and
day into the unknown until, forgetting my old self, I came into possession of a
new self, one that I might have missed on my previous travels. But the first step was beyond me. I lay in bed, unable to move, pondering, as
one does at my age, the ways of melancholy - how it seeps into the spirit, how
it disincarnates the will, how it banishes the sense to the chill of twilight,
how even the best and worst intentions wither in its keep. I kept staring at the ceiling, then suddenly
felt a blast of cold air, and I was gone.
