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.
…It
has now been:
Fifty-two
years ago on this night
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