Epoy 2

This is a new poem about an old friend to whom I dedicated an old poem with the same title.

Sunday, September 25 2011

Epoy 2

With a child's name you write to me;
And with a child's face that I see.
You're on your little planet - standing,
Stretching, searching for something - hiding:
Behind baobabs, ents, and vases.
Are there foxes and roses in your planet's places?
Are they like a hundred other little things -
Especially those which only memory brings?
If so, then you have not understood truly,
And one act you've neglected regularly.
I am inclined to believe, however,
That we have already tamed each other.
And all things else are wheat fields, spring wells,
Four o clocks, and laughing star bells.

We are beings, each with a different there,
Who met in a here which is now nowhere -
In a moment when we were both at hand.
Each other, through ourselves did we understand,
Like a balloon, to the end of our fingers, tied -
The essential, from our sights did hide:
That nothing but ether to our hands did we tether.
Until the Fates deigned our strands they should sever,
Past clouds and stars did our rubber bubbly fly:
Just like a little soul spiraling to the sky -
Our very own imminent uncertain death.
The eyes of our hearts are awakened fully:
Only now will we begin to see things truly.

With a lady's hand you write;
And with a countenance I've yet to sight.
You're in another world - striving,
Living, growing as someone - moving:
Beyond living memories rooting you down.
You find dogs and daisies all around town,
And one Cacabell: flower like no other -
Who is beyond recollection's offer?
If so, then you are a child grown,
And to you, the truth has been shown:
I am with you well within your world,
Past your visions that are unfurled -
I am wheat fields, spring wells,
Four o clocks, and laughing star bells.