Significance

21 May

 

Most mornings,
I wake to the farpresence
of Time, like a lumbering forty-five years
carpet slippered darling,
scruffled and cross,
rummaging coffee and eggs
in a just waking winter kitchen.
I feel not so much the padded hollow
where His body lay
for my unconscious hours,
but only precious vivid seconds which remain
while His heat
evaporates across creases
in the linen sheet.
Layer by layer our souls grow
toward each other till touch,
Lover Time and I.
Like trees, ringed.
We are already one,
but soon,
infinite

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