My first poem of the New Year:
Ours was wanderlust from the start
crazy committed perfection
And then, wanderlust
Rife with wondering
How something so seemingly perfect,
something comfortable and seamless
Could be lost
A fragment so minute
As to be perceived as insignificant
The faintest flood
As if quieted thoughts
Could be ignored
I dared not acknowledge
what I bore
What I said
I could not bear to say to him
My story was for everyone else and
Only my flickering love for him,
The rest given to the air
1-4-09
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