A New Year

It is the same winter as last year

Outside, the familiar yet forgotten winds
Slither through my fingers
Uncurling my fists
Gliding over an older body
More settled, more comfortable, more resigned
More everything I didn’t set out to be

The way is dark and unclear
The turns evading my steps
Angry perhaps, hostile
Unwilling to forgive the abandonment

And now the winds – at first rushing through
Reverse their path
Pushing against my weakened resolve
My tired legs held captive to their strength

The message reverberates with each gust
With each false step
With each forced pause
With each unheard plea

What was cherished and then lost
Can be renewed but not reclaimed


From a Distance

This isn’t the time to look at him

Outstretched arms, more limp than taut,
absorb the overwhelming applause
of strangers

Sweat beads glisten
under the new lights;
you knew they would

It is easy to find him;
he is looking at you;
that’s the trick

Hold steady now;
It’s almost over;
Does it feel good?

Before It Ceases to Matter

Remember how you once were
the ice cream vendor
on a hot summer day?

A smile…

And then your sunken eyes
reflect the truth
the way the sea recedes
and reveals empty shells.

Aren’t you a shell?

A hardened hollow structure
of vestiges from an ambitious past,
crudely assembled by unsure hands.

The years have caught up with you
and left much behind,
littering your memories
at each familiar turn.

The Transition

Surely one day
I’ll roam the streets of Guadalajara
the way it befits them.

Now, bound by my feet,
subject to my senses that
influence more than just

the purposeless splash of colour,
the true sentence,
the unremarkable feeling or detail,

I recognize the irony
of being imprisoned within
my scaffold of convenience.

The way is long and unfamiliar,
as far adrift from the world
as my understanding of it,

and as free of inhibitions and restraints,
as I might never be comfortable with.