Friday, September 26, 2014

Then and Now

If I could hear the water running through
the rocks and the stones under my
feet rumbling, I could behold your voice
again and feel my surprise wherever I go. 
You crack a smile somewhere far away. 
I confer the warmth of a kiss
onto the most solitary star in the night sky. 
Coming here has always been my wish, and now
it is my reason.  From pulp to legal tender,
the truest reason is made from wishing,
and the first sign of spring is that which awakens
within me rather than what I awaken to. 
My first intention is an impulse budding,
not sunned by any need I know. 
I have another day on my mind I must overcome
to forget.  Old hurdle, I have jumped it
a million different ways.  I had a place in mind before
I came to this breezy garden, a maze full of yellow
roses and ivy.  How can I break this unending
splendor to myself, this actual solace of Japanese
maples in the first fog, that so exceeds the flowers
I had thought I would find?  The world I listen to
is the private enterprise of learning. 
I grow older in what I hear than in who I am. 
The years that approach me come to me
in the strictest silence and the starkest light,
and your voice is the clean break I make
with indifference, when you tell me how your father
cannot find himself among his many
waking hours.  There is no alarm for us. 
I keep what you said when you stood
behind me at the party last winter. 
I part my lips to receive your breath.

Joel Fry

(Published in Poem.)

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