December 2, 2021

Presence

I.
This morning 
I accept in the light
before dawn
the proffered cup --
but it swims with
only my own misery
and not that 
of the world I love –
I have kept my distance, 
protecting an energy
that was once taxed 
beyond measure
and imagination --
if imagination can
be said to step foot
in such places. 

II.
Eventually things ease –
they always do --
but I forget, my memory 
foreshortened by
a vacancy of trust
and perspective -- 
my lines gone awry, 
vanishing not into 
some promised distance
but bunched and bent
until the pain withdraws,
leaving more than 
a shallow impression
of chaos past, 
the tracing paper
tissue thin. 

III.
Except for you –
my very own
strong, silent type --
who kiss me 
where it hurts 
with a love unguarded, 
never withdrawn,
guiding me by 
your quiet generosity.
You never take credit 
for anything – 
for kindness extended,
for aid offered --
which challenges my 
essential selfishness,
and moves my heart
a step or two closer,
a few degrees 
more open, to those 
whom I suppose to love –
loving more deeply,
for you and they
deserve nothing less --
this withheld heart
also aching
to overflow its own cup.