May 11, 1998
(I was 53)
Thirty-one years ago on this night
about this time I became a
father
twice and too dumb to be
fearful
and too ignorant to have
remembered
much of how it felt or what
it meant,
and in the intervening
years
too smart to think I could
figure it out.
Too indifferent now to
philosophy
to believe we ever arrive
at truth
too numb to days to hope
they add up
as they subtract
Too blind at night to see
how we divide
as we multiply.
And certain it is better to
be lost in now
than found at some future
date;
better to be lost in now
than remembered as part of
something gone.
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