Passing the Year

My exams are finished. I have a wonderful job. It lets me interact with people and do my work without being too demanding of me. I have an apartment, and my loans are steadily being repaid. My sister and her boyfriend have now moved to Philadelphia, offering a familial presence in this city. My parents are moving to a new house. Although some of my friends are graduating, I still have many that will be left here. Small things matter too: this new computer that I’m typing on, and the new toys that occupy my time. My work has been handed in. It’s done. I feel like my back is broken, but my soul and my will are being renewed. I’m done. Done -- that word feels like honey rolling off my tongue…


Paean

So one year passes and here I am,
No worse for the wear,
Tracking the streets
Like a contented fox
With his belly full.

It doesn’t matter necessarily
Who or what incarnation I am or
Where exactly this destination lies.
Nose down and feet pitching forth,
Leaves turn over like yesterday’s dream.

I could go on and lose myself forever.
A year, a city, passes by so easily,
Like a breath or an exalted sigh,
And I hesitate just momentarily to take stock
And feel for the presence of this wayward soul.

Beat, come, and let the steady pulse sing to me,
Press your hand upon this restless heart,
For I am real, and you are there,
And beneath this scrim
Of heart beating, arteries pulsating,
And breath riding in and out,

Lies a treasure, real and tangible.
Hold your breath still and watch!
(Who cares if nothing gold can stay?)
No sense in killing the moment out in measured time…
(I pray never to lose this sense of childlike wonder.)


--Noel Darlucio Pura
Philadelphia, 2006