Contemplation 1

Did I really think it would
be easy,
that we were all that
from the rest
with their unrequited
love and lust and adoration
agonies of fate and fame and
innocent desire:

could I be so naive
or all the damning world so blind?

I only know the colour in your eyes bequests
a thousand summers
and the sound of your hair is the
fall of beech-leaves on
a carpet lawn.

Don’t let us lose this
beginning for fear of
today is all we have for certain,
the future on loan – the past a
memory of a garden where the sun
was shining and the trees sang:

my love,
don’t lose it
I need you.


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