The wind let me live
The wind let me live
By not arriving. The ten thousand
wheels of the highway had stopped
And we sat on its back, still
As food in cans. And the dark
Grew quiet as we killed
Our engines to save fuel.
Mere hours away
The sirens set
Apart each moment in its stillness:
Duration’s blue and red lights.
They bounced off the neighbors’ houses
And into the distance, arriving
At some place where there was
No distance, and the aftermath
Of that. Then the windless rain
Like a chorus that is the song
Of the end of shape. Where will
I be when the one drop of rain
That is my life, descending with the rest,
Bursts against the earth, no longer
The same but exactly the same,
As many molecules as the stars
in a gathering puddle whose surface
riddled by wind reflects the sole
Of a child’s new sneakers
Translations from the English 
I am no longer the same after reading this poem, Jeff.
Please check out Maureen’s (Sitting on my own Sofa’s) comment mentioning you in response to my latest blog post:
https://annkoplow.wordpress.com/2018/09/29/day-2098-who-are-the-good-male-role-models-now/
Thanks Ann! And I did find Maureen’s note on your site. Very humbling. It shows how a poem can go places the poet can not even imagine and have a resonance that continues to expand — largely due to participation by a reader willing to engage with it. Such a great story!
It’s great to engage with you, Jeff.
Lovely work, Jeff.
Thanks Lesley!