Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Mischief Managed

Ah, but you see, this moment, all thoughts of desiring are gone, the sun bright, only a calm friendliness rising from the cool earth. I walk unseen in the garden of your heart, content.

I will not always be asking and wanting, resenting and demanding. There are times when I am really quite like an adult.

Their eyes, their ancient glittering eyes are gay.

Forty-seven years old, and I have learned a little. About letting messages go into darkness, to rest without replies, to be happy with the ghosts of echoes and with connections that are not proven or proveable. It's okay.

And today I held hands with you, as I used to imagine it, nine years old and hearing the Beatles song for the first time, in the long sunlight of summer mornings so far gone and so present. More than enough.

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