coffee spoon worn (25 january 2011)
For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
By T.S. Eliot
the last hours
of a half-century life
lived in half
too often too long
except for you
sitting in my dream
i lie with my head in your lap
my aging face against your bare thighs
my left hand holding your ankle
& your hand lightly on my shaved head
my eyes closed & lungs filled with you
then i believe i hear you whisper
"i am no android
or figment of your memory
spawned by a force larger than us"
& i think
you are always
& this is how a man half lived
rises along with each new sun
even the first solitary morning
of the next half century
believing in you walking to you
coffee spoon worn against dreams
fueling the song of your whispers
& this living is a dancing
a celebration born of you
No comments:
Post a Comment