unfinished

thursday morning, and Im in my office trying to get stuff done for the day, and im listening to the Royal Tenebaum's soundtrack, which unfortunately doesnt include the best song from the movie...which makes it feel really unfinished. so im thinking about "unfinished" and i remember a poem i wrote a long time ago about the idea....so i pull it out and completely revise it and its a cold october morning and viola, you get this:

Unfinished

I had told myself it was time to go back
to when cold was excuse for contact.

I had told myself it was time for granite
again to hold easy initials in the twilight

and for the Pleiades again to dance, accompanied
only by my eyes upon them, and the cloudless sky.

Time again for all the things that left me older when they left.

I was telling myself this while looking
at barren ski slopes before the first snow

While staring at painful, painful trees
their oval leaves carried off by a wind.

Each looked so much like a man, balding,
and the wind became the fingers he runs through his hair,
lost in thought.

He is a rooted man, and a covered one
but he too must worry about the fingers in his hair.
He too must worry about leaving things
unfinished.