No Man Ever Steps in the
Same River Twice
Riding down the backyard lane
Leading downtown from my house,
I reenter that childhood reverie.
Like in the past, I was gently braced
By the hands of wind that
Softly stroke my hair.
I am still riding in the
Middle
Of this road,
Filling the empty tar spaces between
The white stripes defining it,
Placed equidistantly from the familiar
Old buildings on both sides.
But I was no longer the little kid
Squeezed beneath my mother’s knees
In the front of the motorbike.
My growing form
Curves over hers on the taller backseat.
But I was no longer that little kid
With thoughts dreamily occupied with
The funny rhythm of child limerick.
Now everything—
the sky, the road, the houses, my mother, and I—
Is cast in the shadow of a certain light,
Infused with sentimentality.
It bears worries,
Intricate, profound, mind-twisting
Depths that distinguish today from yesterday.
And this difference makes tomorrow.