I'm sorry I didn't tell you at first.
I'm sorry I took my time.
I'm sorry I'm not your age.
I'm sorry we're apart.

I'm sorry we barely talk now.
I'm sorry you can't see me smile.
I'm sorry I haven't kissed you yet.
I'm sorry I sometimes make you mad.

I'm sorry I think of you all day.
I'm sorry I dream of you all night.
I'm sorry I whisper your name.
I'm sorry I can't get you off my mind.

I'm sorry I love you so much.
I'm sorry you are my life.
I'm sorry I'll never let you go.
I'm sorry I fell for your charm.

I stare at her. Her wrinkles, her hand, and even what you may call clothes. I see her two twins. their bowl cut dreadfully ragged. The boy's faces i do not see, for they are cuddled in the safety that mother tries to provide. i grow curious for their true faces and what they have become over the years. i look at their situation. i look again at mother. i do not focus on the wrinkles, or the hand, but the feeling in her eyes that is holding back. she never wanted this for the kids. she never wanted this at all. her eyes are strong and powerful, but weakened from grief and remorse. i look down to her left hand. it is covered by a baby boy splattered with the dirt they call home, but no tears. in the edge of my sight, i see a log. just a log. i look one more time at their situation. i grow fond of her hand, the way it is placed on the face, the feeling, and pressure made on the stressed body. was her hand cold? was this hand support in a time of need?

We are all searching
and looking
and leaning
and grasping
for it,
and we don't know
what it is
but we are all
searching and looking
and leaning and grasping
for it,
so I found it,
even if I don't know it,
but it is nothing
and doesn't exist,
but I think
that we all have it,
we all have it
right now,
and we have been looking
for it,
but we just didn't know
that we had it
all along,
so relax
and enjoy it,
we've got it,
so that's all.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Perhaps, in fear,
I had let go-
I could not forever wander.
I could not see
the ending road,
so my mind did wonder.

What fantasies do lie ahead?
What nightmares lurk in darkness?
So I turned home instead,
as uncertainty held no interest.