Ago
The Nativity day has arrived, right on time.
But where am I, this silent morning, by myself?
I alone know. I'm in Ago, not quite thirty years back —
My Sligo, my Innisfree —
Where our kids worshiped at the Christmas-tree altar.
It's not so much that I live in the past; I don't.
It's more, perhaps, that there is no present
Into which I can jettison my dispossessed spirit.
Dislocation is no place for an aging man,
Especially if he has no plans for finding his future.
Nonetheless, that long-gone Ago,
Seeming closer to me than today does to tomorrow,
Compels me back to "Daddy," "Dude," when I was.
Ago holds out my only hope
For sharing in the blessings of this giftless Christmas.
12/25/08
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