Hold me in abeyance, O life! Let not
The bitter waters rush on, nor rusted
Thorns obscure the rose, nor gnarled oaks rot;
I am the bearer of hope, entrusted
To give the Earth her due: to sky betrothed

As I turn its clear-plastic pages, the album
Crinkles its nose like a hound on the scent,
And I find my way—eyes down, nostalgic tears
Leaking from between twitching lids—
To memories stopped dead in their tracks and
Mounted like trophies on the page:

I am nothing. Or maybe a thin layer of snow
On hibernating grass, a just-fallen leaf
Still twitching in the coffin of the frozen earth. 
But there is a wind
Skipping like a boulder across the Atlantic, flapping
Like a great migratory bird whose wake will brush me aside,
Will reveal my emptiness to the fog.

Perhaps if every night were so laden
practical life would grind to a halt—
the fields untilled, shops unopened,
schools unminded—for who can bear
mere survival in the face of, dare I say