The Loss

TWO POEMS

THE LOSS

During my youth I desired time to pass

quickly; always from the core of the days

I could go fast as wind to the future

in my mind, where the foreign cities were.

There my shabby brick rose in marble equal

to Doges' palaces, my private sea-wall

holding my own ocean; why, even the slum

| of my parents passed through that transforming flame.

My arrogant hastes were bringers of deserts;

now I regret everything that departs,

days, nights, and friends; feel loss in all that's over,

even this poem said, myself as traveler.