here. a small sliver of poem. to go with the glimpses into my travel journal.
taken from New Years by Dana Gioia
because sometimes i like the little bites better than the whole piece.
But can this blur, this smudgy in-between,
This tiny fissure where the future drips
Into the past, this flyspeck we call now
Be our true habitat? The present is
The leaky palm of water that we skim
From the swift, silent river slipping by.
The new year always brings us what we want
Simply by bringing us along—to see
A calendar with every day uncrossed,
A field of snow without a single footprint.