sometimes
there is something you need to do
just
once. walking along a channel in the
winter sun
and
watching the reflections go from blue to brown to
a momentary
green, no one catching your eye but a wind
sweeping by
briskly to remind you, it is just this once. you
think of
Rilke and how he admonished us to never believe
the lie of holding
on or having forever. you pride yourself
on how
close you get. the freest of spirits in the crowd,
how you can
hold a hand so close to your heart, or your
parts, in
the deep blue of one single night, and then raise your
glass to
the freedom of roads and journeys. but then once again
in the
specter of morning and the rough waves of finitude, you
are wondering again, just how to hang on.
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