If Anywhere

I watch the trees in a blur

as the train moves on, and the regular

rhythm of the electricity poles.

I drum the fingers on my knees

by the window, humming, mouth closed,

his new song I've just heard at home.

From a new album, once more.

I am not young, once

I never thought about getting old,

about the span of my passing.

In these days the fog is constant,

it stubbornly swaddles the stones,

I keep humming, at one with its persistence,

with on this side the same ongoing

riddle of landscape's stare

and I cannot say I am not glad

I've come this far,

if anywhere.

written October 27th 2006
after listening to Modern Times by Bob Dylan


words: Davide Trame, Italy
photo: Steve Wing, Florida (sand shadow)


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