The My Life
This quiet Saturday night,
I toast myself, with a providential l'chaim,
Give thanks for my health and for just being alive.
I so appreciate these evenings,
When the entire time belongs to me alone —
An interlude between the day's dizzy busyness and sleep,
A sweet caesura separating my two selves:
The mind that analyzes what's right before its eyes
And the psyche that dreams of distant possibilities.
Rarely do I find these occasions empty.
Quite the salutary contrary,
They bequeath me the opportunity to get to know myself,
Know my soul better and better,
For probing territories I never conceived even existed,
Let alone considered exploring.
And when I finish reflecting on fleeting essences,
Casting chimerical nemeses
Into forgetting's depths, memory's cluttered miasmas,
I always tilt my l'chaim wineglass
One time more,
And make a final toast to who I was, am, and will be.
05/30/09 - (1)
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