All those years

Dedicated to my love, Glenn.

ALL THOSE YEARS

All those years of knocking
On doors made of tin,
My knuckles bloody from the effort of looking.

All those years of twisting
Myself into pretzyl forms,
Perhaps if I look right, you will come.

All those years of stubborn determination,
My heart hammering in expectation,
Sobbing, then
Praying, then
Rising up, then
Falling face down in the mud.

Decades whirled past.
And I stopped knocking.
The empty space
I saved for you
Filled itself with the
Bittersweet joy of falling leaves, sounds of twilight, the soft kiss of the breeze on my skin.

I should have known,
Should have known that
You were stubborn too,
And would come in your own sweet time.

I watch you sleep,
Touch my lips to your brow,
Slip my arms around you, inhale your sweet smell, let my breath move in time with yours,
And know that

All those years conspired
To bring me home
To you.

Crossroads

Crossroads time.

Your skin shedding like a snake

with shadow and certainty coming to grips

with what is lost, and the terrible joy of what is now possible.

Look ahead

down the road

there, behind the great elm tree.

Do you see?

No, do not turn your eyes away

for the Beloved does not make sport for your entertainment.

Be still, be shiny as the winter sky.

Listen with your eyes.

I dare you.

E. Copeland ©2011