No words, oily body sweats, city summer.
Desperate to get out and never return although
stalled on Triborough Bridge I admired the skyline.
My city, my death, I did it my way.
Counting your blessings a healthy activity,
the park out my back window, a job that pays.
But I am losing strength to fight
for the world in my imagination. Acceptance of reality
makes me a fossil of society.
Basho in old age found strength to walk
deep into the mountains. He visited famous sites
up north. Po Chu-i traveled mountains in his dreams.
You can leave at any time. You can return
without being seen. A way to learn
your insignificance, freedom to have never been.