Then

I've found the deepest words come from the deepest place.  This week's image from The Mag brought me back to such a place, so here it is. i added a line and I'm pleased about that. 

Melancholy

How far is too far?

Sometimes, after midnight,

I stretch my fingers so they extend like perfect pencils

And I try to imagine that in the act of drawing lines and circles

I can span the distance and straighten fate

Like red  hot  steel

So that it curves around your driveway

Instead of around our destinies.

.

I;m not complaining, you know.

How lucky can a person be to 

Live with a heart that deepens and expands

Through this connection that 

Despite every outage and short circuit

Sparks its way into distant light

And  guides and replenishes 

The little chair by the door.

I will never complain.

I learn to wait:

It’s a winding train

On its way to fate.

There will be times when fate vacations

And so will we.

There will be times when we forget altogether

And pass the sugar only to chuckle 

That we’ve forgotten that even with extra wooden slats

there’s not a  kitchen table in the universe

that can extend that far.

And there will be a time, or two, when the phone rings 

Probably Before sunrise

And as the receiver lies flat 

 one of us is on a plane,

not to rejoice but to rejoin.

When my daughter was little

I thought about the end of the world

And I wondered if I could reach her 

In time.

 I wondered who I would race to

If there were only seconds before the island

Closed shut.

I didn’t know then that I would ask these questions

For all of my life.

I didn’t know then that 

I will one day close my eyes,

And so will you,

And hope that in that moment

We have one last riotious laugh.

I didn’t know that loving you,

Meant that life would then be lived

In a certain absentia.

Not less full, or wonderous,

Not less engaged or enigmatic

But a little like the melancholy

Of a dark sky missing one star.

It’s only one star,

One among thousands,

But in the great scheme of things.

It’s a black hole with neon flashes.

But we own this sky,

Me and you.

And then, blue angels standing guard:
It’s me.

This post was inspired by The Mag. There you'll find some fine writers and poets. Thanks for the privilege.

Love
kj