Contemplation 1

Did I really think it would
be easy,
that we were all that
different
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
tomorrow:
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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