i used to be young and then
somehow i lost the knack.
you don't think of it as a skill:
cycling aloft on the wire,
but once belief goes - that's it:
you've veered off track
into a siding. you recall
the switching point, the shudder
as your life became detached.
windows turn inward: reflect
your back-to-front face
which has forgotten how, lost when.
the dreams begin: leaving luggage
on a train. searching
through unknown cities. riding a bus
unable to name a destination.
i used to be young.
i didn't think of it as a skill.
you ask if i'd go back?
yes, but i don't remember these streets;
and anyway i've lost the knack.
