I
remember us-
how we danced those endless nights;
twelve
struck with a magical stroke,
the moon above would melt
in
our eyes,
young love graced as one.
Summer
days heat
we would go to the beach:
feet sank into
sand
double-fudge dripped off our cones.
She would wrap
herself
in the cool blue lake
and stroke,
afloat the thrusting waves.
Yesterday
pictures,
a frame can only hold.
White and gray ran with
me
and bent the concepts captured in.
I sit with two
alone-
when I talk to her today,
only the birds answer
back.
The t.v. gives me intention,
the radio motion;
she
is half-conscious
and I am her stranger:
that feeds,
diapers and
tucks her expired eyes to bed.
Her face is
half-beaten
with gravity, muscles weak to
control her
bladder.
It hurts to smile.
But
still I hope for the better.
Soon the day will end
and it
will be dark. I
will wash her nipples
and change her
sheets. Then
at the stroke of twelve,
I shall dance again–
to the thousand beats of eternity;
that you will never be
skeleton
when I am in ghost.
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