Now the midwinter grind / is on me, New York drills through my nerves,/ as I walk/ the chewed up streets./ At forty five, / what next, what next?/ Et every corner, / I meet my father/ my age, still alive. Father, forgive me/ my injuries, / as i forgive those I have injured! / You never climbed Mount Sion, yet left/ dinosaur/ death steps on the crust,/ where I must walk" Robert Lowell
