Gazing Life

I recall my life, and reckon it through its flakes;
I have come so far, in an exile of time and its frame.
Not the plain I have come through,
not a bed of roses I have laid upon;
not the shelter and comfort of the beheld and safe,
not fearless of loss, or of weakening dreams,
not loved and cared for, all the way — but
I find a tranquillity when I look back at time.

I step forward, and watch myself run afar,
to reach the end I always admire;
but the trees left behind, the shadow of them —
be they lovers or friends, I hold them still.
And in the nostalgia of time, I whisper my lonely words:
“Wish you were here, to complete this journey.”