It’s sad enough to shade your face
in rooms where women waltz their words,
and smile, tree-hungry, weary of the art.
But when the partly-living go
I strain to sense your absence, now.
The last I knew you was the day
the dog barked out her ecstasy
and wagged to see me coming near
and jumped and whined and wouldn’t sit,
deaf to all my peevish threat.
And in her honest artlessness,
she licked her way right through to you,
and you and she played peek-a-boo
while I observed with distant eyes,
half enthralled despite myself.
But I have lately lost you, friend,
from waltzing one too many times
to worn-out seem and reputation;
and yet, your memory bids me cry:
above the beat, shout me your name.
I know you have one, mirror man.
Join 650 other subscribers
- October 2017 (1)
- December 2015 (1)
- January 2015 (1)
- October 2014 (1)
- May 2014 (1)
- December 2013 (2)
- August 2013 (1)
- June 2013 (1)
- April 2013 (6)
- March 2013 (6)
- February 2013 (7)
- January 2013 (17)
- December 2012 (11)
- rio de janeiro
this poem evoked old feelings inside me, thank you for sharing and so beautiful.