The journey never really ends, does it?
– Mikeliti, where are you going?
– I don’t know.
– You don’t know?
– I never knew, did I? But off I went, all the same.
Song fragment
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Tag Archives: aging
In the unscrubbed mirror: Nurmuiž manor
In twilights gone
Truth fades like some
Antique paint, unsuited
To the impatient light
We deal with nowadays.
Still, a window
Is a window.
The poet who sang at the end of time
The bland design falls, outward bound.
The swilling beast groans with cheap ecstasy,
Sometimes interior,
Sometimes superior.
What is exterior obliterates me
Until my fragile image asserts its wee voice,
Lost in a chorus
Of wee voices.
I know, I know, I am the only me,
The only conjunction of these points,
But how could you have failed to guide me
Through this hidden path?
Was I supposed to intuit mere chance?
As it is, I’m left to glide along
Waste-bound avenues,
Street grime the color of storm clouds,
Tipping into a middling redemption
Unawares, using old navigation charts,
Useless azimuths, discarded distances,
Captain of a bottomless vessel,
An occidental sailor upon oriental shores.
See there, where no destination lies.
A simple ending, no beyond, no before.
Not even a reason for despairing.
We’d mistaken the moon for a song.
Impossible
One soft-winded luck-drenched
Park bench afternoon
While dust motes drifted languidly
In and out of sunbeam streams
Eyelids too closed to bother
I dreamed of life
Of love-stained moons
Lake-bound loons and the stars
And a vastness so supreme
Only a poor cosmic ash of a
Barely dim spark
Could comprehend it
I dreamed of the gravity of gravity
Of the long loose distance
Between here and now
Of the slow dip of the long journey
The road moves easily within
And without the fortress skull
At a whim
At an ungrim wager
With vaporous fate
I dreamed of how in old age
The bones of our deciduous dreams
Absurdly seductive
Still nudge us toward the impossible
Having arrived at which
We stare longingly behind
exiles child 