THE MOMENT


A lightness sweeps the air--

a door shuts somewhere--

and I'm on the other side,

too lost, too free to care

whether nothingness or fame

shall take my name,

whether this world that seems

so darkly tumbling down

with all I've loved and known

will fail at last,

and like a pricked balloon

fizzle into the past,

and night come in,

the brown lumps on my skin

spread out, spread out and win,

and decay, begun so long ago

begin--

           and pain--and hopeless pain--

I do not care,

but ride upon the air,

sit upon the wind--nobody,

no one, nothing,

some other, some greater thing

and pity all those below

as about their ends they go,

not knowing who they are,

not knowing what they are--

when a door shuts somewhere,

light stops the air,

and swifter than an eye can blink

I tumble down, I sink,

and on this side of the wall

sit in a heap and think.



Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie