Occasional Poems

Lost Days

Lost Days

I’m trying to celebrate life before life celebrates me.
I’m letting go of the miles one by one.
The seconds slip behind me, some unloved.
You remember that feeling of peace, 
the one you left behind in adulthood?
I’m running backwards, 
picking up memories in hope of finding it.

Lost days scattered like the tents of a nomadic tribe. 
I see dreams of childhood glowing in camp fire embers. 
The future distant, a cold empty church. 
If I step into the right one you’ll be there,
a dream and a memory at the same time.
I’m leaving messages 
that say: love it more, love it all more.

Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will be before. 
No traffic jam of black cars waiting for me.
The dead quiet now, their slogans unreadable. 
Just the vague sense of an old man shaking me awake.
His urgent whisper that sounds like ‘the days, the days, 
your life is made of days’.
And it will be like remembering for the first time. 

I awake and the curtain is moving in the breeze.
Last nights playing cards are scattered on the floor.
You’re next to me, your shape half covered on the bed.
Buenos Aires flows through the hotel window,
a ceiling fan spins a slow shadow on the wall.
I move so easily through the room. 
In the mirror my eyes reflect the new day like a memory.