to get over us.
and a lifetime may
be too long to get over me.
Every day revealing sorrow—a
folly of believing I could turn on. So soon
I uncover myself, and the decade is lost. I cover myself
and the heart is dead. I see another and my life hopes past its willing bonds.
I visit a Mother, and I see, see, see too closely, how the next decade, and the next
will plunge its years through my hands and torso and brain, but never once reach
who I am. If I could only like you again, like myself when I am with you, we
may be friends, at least once, continuing true to the facts neglecting
all the rest of Light that was and is still being given.
Are there ways to quietly go?
Close the keyboard cathedral
to find another air for carrying
one task at a time, done as well as life
will allow one—Jesus Christ, Thy
lead.