once a year
I wrap myself
in the black chevrons
of ceremony
and reluctantly
toss small feathers
into the air
in the hopes that gravity
will not notice
I ask the wind
to be gentle
but it just grins
and says that it bargains
with no one
and reminds me
like breath
some things
cannot be kept forever
all you can do is wave
at these future memories present
with hopeful amplitude
and ponder the mystery
of fingerprints
-Stan A. Baldwin-