"good morning," you said,
as you walked up trottrottrot to my door,
opened the lock with your smile
& let yourself in:
"I promise not to stay,
but I'd like to at least take a glimpse
of the whatif sort of game we play."
& as I unfurled my joy at your arrival
I closed my eyes to picture
just what our whatifs and couldwes would look like:
there would be music,
sweet music,
& your voice would match with my words--
a tenor chorus in cummings' poetry,
a breath of anxious hearts' goodbyes.
for each&everytime; we are draw near to the same place,
we hold our hands up & against each other's,
& we look into each other's eyes
but our fingers never, never, never
interlace.
whatif, whatif, whatif--
so exhausting is this thought,
that I will set it free here in these words,
& I will let you be there with your wideawakeeyes
& your heart that runs its course in the other direction
from where I stand tonight.