At first it was all I could do
to stare into the past
to search out any scraps
that I recognize from the long ago.

At first it was just sad,
being bracing and alone
I turned to face the future:
blank slate
locked gate
face the fact, nothing lasts.

Do I lie to myself?
Yes and no - only when
the tracks in the snow
lead, inexorably to my
front door. Otherwise, no.

The air is bracing where I am
out on a limb, digging up
the truth that there is no place
to flee to.

Except to the rocky road
of forethought
putting one's things in order,
counting the cost
of building a ladder to the stars.  

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