Without warning,
at least any that I’d heeded,
the year was buried into the past,
a remnant of my spirit’s growth,
a stepping stone along the way,
a shining note on the stave of life.

I latch onto memories, sort and distribute,
reaffirm and adjust,
and figure the trajectories onto which
I’ve launched myself.

Open doors, closed doors;
some in front, some behind,
I’m lost in the present moment

— directionless —

calculating life’s trajectories
in this tempest of a night.

I’d glance askancely,
the calculations leading nowhere;
Calculations become the empty dreams
that fade away
leading me not to some far-flung dream illusion
in which I’d frolic,
but to where I am,
where I’m going,

into another year;
A trajectory
towards tomorrow.