Aging

For that odd door of Alice’s

behind which rabbits run on unmowed grass

in unpredictably slipping time,

I keep searching.

 

Unexpected keys in words, names, smells

bring it nearer, clearer, but then after all -

nothing, just a shifting shadow,

an unexpected stirring.

 

Choice, direction, opportunity open

but which unlocked gate to choose

when none are that elusive shrinking door

I’m searching for.

 

Suppress panic imagining trees growing taller,

time speeding mercilessly

as I get bigger and older,  

and realize perhaps I gave up long ago.

 

No way I could make it through

any how.

 

Dhaka 2015

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