It’s dark again, and we have searched for quite
some time for that still center, that space
where you and I can co-exist. Your face
these days is hard to bear, your eyes so bright…
I’ve filled my room with candles, to keep the night
away. I’ll step to a more measured pace;
resist the fruitless urge to simply race
in spinning endless circles, locked in might-
have-beens. Speed will not save us. So brace
yourself — it’s time to slow things down. Hold tight
to what you know. The fragile tree of light
you gave to me — the still and shining lace
of silver branches, falling glass. Its slight
geometry holds something true, and right.
*****
1/5/1999