Friday, January 3, 2014


There they are, the two of them.
The man and the woman
walk on crushed bark
that paves a wooded path.
Time refuses to stop for them,
though it seems to check its pace.
It entices them with a taste
of something like forever.
And they don't stop walking,
not for maples that take on
the old spring labors, not
for anything. Who would?
And when they do stop
the sun has reddened.
They return
to the meadow they passed
three times already, spread
cloth and food.
In the chill their eyes
tighten and they see
each others lines already
crossing their faces.
So much time is lost.

They argue.They pace
in corners of a room.
The room takes their footfalls,
mixes them with words.
The pacing and the short
syllables sound alike
outside, out the glowing
curtain, outside in
the filled-up parking lot.
They stop arguing because
they have to, because
time has become ordinary,
common as fatigue.
They realize at last
they are not one person.

Time, I don't begrudge you.
The only thing
you were supposed to do
was vanish.
I walk with you now.
You show me the places
I have lived and will someday,
maybe. I will do things over,
but do them over with you.
Don't give me my desire,
please, I've had it already.
If you must give to me,
talk to me. Tell me
what you want most.

Note: Just when I thought the supply of poems I didn't want to publish was depleted. This poem works with themes and images still on my palette, but I wouldn't write this poem today.

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