The Bend Of Years

For Michael

Hope drained and wind-whipped
I drift past pine, into deer-trailed meadows
No map can anticipate this place
This place where you would appear
No immediate recognition of you
Stepping through shadows and light

Until we sit

Sharing eulogies of dead fathers
Laughing tentatively about damage
Embracing away fears
I remember now, all days
Uncoiling rages and love of dying mothers
Doubling joy of daughters and a grandchild’s smile
Finding of patience in impatient days
Learning of new words, amanuensis, hope, trust
Directing love, leaping to the stage

As we touch the bend of three years

I recall the color of chalcedony
Editing of poems and punctuation of dreams
You see with clarity
A doe, gliding into shallow water, of trail
Perhaps how you see me
This love that is neither first nor true
Rather real and absolute, no starvation here

While we each feed the other

Published online 2011