head full of plans, lists, schedules, to-dos, the body can't keep pace so I lose the fall is off a cliff, the face of it unpleasant and ill-lit nothing to put the finger on, all horizons seem kind, unsplit but I hate the rocky road at my feet I see the white sails far away, silent, graceful - here on the headland I can only look their way lost as usual, with no help on the trail: I failnext poem