and November whooshed me back to New York,
the future yet with the prickled scent of the past –
Walking down the same streets,
and so a sense of de ja vu is underlined
by a sense of jamais vu:
a writer speaking strong of home,
with the seized distance from a nefarious history.
December still belongs to the sky,
but the reason why
is more wondrous because of wonder.
Time has provided a barrier
between me and my past,
allowing me to see it
through seamless dreams,
doldrums and all.
I welcome the wait,
because anticipation is
more than half the honor of living.