Tuesday, August 4, 2015
length of a year
the logic is to measure as many things
to live the finite life, it's end
at the very end certainly known
even as certainly unseen.
the body feels it for us, receiving the Quiet. cell
by cell as if room by room, coming in
door after door in this poor temple
of soul. the young do not hear
yet the Quiet's footsteps echoing in the wind.
but come years of footfall after footfall
one finally recognises the visitor
has been in all along. the logic is
to measure as many things to forewarn life
the finiteness of every moment that needs
be lived. sense the silhouette passing
minute after minute quantifiable
ultimately by calendar. but how long the length of
a passing year for uncertain waiting?
the letter gave no promises, only half
affirmative gesture, the word "about"
encompassing. so one continues to move the motor
of day-to-day, no certain number
except what wind presses on
one's cheek, what dogs in gentle
wisdom knows, the way they keep close. in the way
one's mind attempts to see an entire
year more, the whole turn around sun
from now, but sees only part of it.
I rather not have yet the leaving a form, a body, a face
as number of remaining days, of date, hour
of plane departure because it is inevitable.
I rather at this moment let it remain
a spectre she and I would let in in time, but not yet,
not yet. at the moment, let it stay
a welcomed guest at the front door.
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