Being Here

Fight the urge to skip ahead by better appreciating where you've been.

Impossibly far above this sea of trouble roiling,
Today's last light snags, winds, and glowers.
I don't feel small; in fact, the largeness
Of being everywhere lengthens to horizon's haze,
And I once again have to commit to knowing
Every last damn glance of it.
How did you sleep? Like a log, she says.
Growing old is the pits, she says, but
I keep waking up and getting out of bed.
I want to see what will happen.

So listen: maybe you were right
About the ways and means of light,
Traveling by particle and by wave,
Forming the slightest palimpsestic gaze. 
And its difference with dark?
Only perception's farce.
Estoy aquí, y estas alla,
Light still finds the horizon's maw.

Alone on Círdan's ship
Bound for the Lost Straight Road,
I wonder if I should feel remorse.
Moored and bored, I struggle; abhorred
By what I have done,
And by what I have left undone.
Will the Uttermost West
Recreate me, cleansed?