God your muscles must've ached
from all that walking. Sore feet
that hurt to stand still on, picking
them up so blood can flow.
The good news -
we've met at the perfect
time, though tired, and the
journey behind us needs to
be remade because now
we have finally learned
how to read. And this
monstrous grandness is
something I'm less
sickened by every day
and more appreciative of,
thanks to you, it is no longer
a stage, no longer performance
because you saw it right
the whole time and I was
always looking back
trying to see that passage too.
The difference now is this:
my eyes have become soft
(like in that Yeats poem
When You Are Old) -
and a stroke of my heart is
presently a flutter as a finger strokes a page -
I've nothing else to say about this one
so I can allow myself to feel this, this fullness.
I know what's coming... and I'm already looking away
but I'm ready, as always, to open the next one.
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