I am circling the past
As if it were a bright light
As if I had nothing to lose
As if it were always the north pole of the magnet
The cynosure
Polaris to be danced around and around
As if I had captured brilliant memories
Kept them leashed and tethered
Guarding the seasoned, storm-protected heart.
What's done is done I cry
A feeble protest to the winds
Here in the hinterland of space
Each breath hard-won
As if it could be different.
The present is the point of contact
The wavering pen on the rolling paper
The landscape unfolding as I circle
Falling from the sky
As if the next year will change
As if each orbit is an opening
As if there really is an end.
--
Richard Posner
