There is never enough time
to honour every thing as it should
be honoured, and we honour
only in time. There is never
enough presence that can be
too much here. And there is never enough
here, to salute the slightest
wisp of you, or even of your hair.
What to do? Call you up, try to fix it?
One may as well admit we blew it,
somewhere, back there, when I was here,
and you were ever, ever there.
0 comments:
Post a Comment