“Stop. Start Again.”
from Richard Sanger
On the last day of the year, in the last year
of the century I was born in,
I went into the woods with my brothers.
It was cold, there was a wind,
and we skied to warm ourselves
and harder still as we raced, testing each other
the way we did when we were boys.
We stood, the creaking stopped,
and then we started off again,
our skis imprinting their lines
in the uncomplaining snow, lines
that would be there, or gone, in the morning.
I like how the temporal determinations of mortality are abridged, for a while, until morning be past or the traces gone.
And so for day 2159