Day 12523

Slam, I exist. I am again, suspended
between some somewhere I’ve long forgotten
and some other strange place I’ve never yet been

as the remnant of some billion-year lust story
with some someone impossible and nameless
is pulled along past with yesterday into that void.

Shake off sleep. Here I am in the future, rebooting,
Growing louder, reassessing the state of this place
and this planet, and oh yes, that was me.

Seems my boy has plied his parting zest on the door
as that’s how you make your every human transition
when wending through your eleventh year.

Courtesy for the cares of one unseen to him
ranks among his only occasional virtues;
maybe consistency comes at eleven?

He’s marvelous. A mind for cogs and pistons
and optimized tail recursions and starry truth.
Beloved human child of my left hemisphere.

He’s the arrow leaving my bow
sharp and straight but I don’t yet know
if I shot true to some worthy target.

And downstairs now my girl is weeping softly,
over some finger-pinch clash with a chair
for that’s how you brook such pain in your fifth year.

So the fuzz of morning cleared and I’m stirring
but now she’s pulling through, talking through;
seems a new private courage comes at five?

She’s wondrous. A yellow flower blooming music
booming color, and secret chatter among friends.
Beloved human child of my right hemisphere.

She’s the arrow leaving my quiver
round and smooth but I don’t know whether
I’ll pull the string right, or strong.

And there’s a woman in my bed but she’s warm
and sheened with sleep and so familiar
and by now it’s safe to leave her for later.

She more than all is my life. Has she always been here?
Have I always been lost in the middle of this
old slow push of pleasant existence?

Lie resplendent and let resolve rise at its pace
until time trips alarms and she wakes,
claims my glance yet again across pillowed moments.

Ready to do it all again, my love? Ready to care
and tweak and bargain and follow all demands?
Hang in there, I know you know it too. I know you.

And what metaphor for you, the bow and the quiver?
Or the finger, the feathered hat, or all of that?
Yawn once for yes and it’s yours. I’m yours.

And there’s just time for one kiss, because barking
and mowing, rushing and building and blowing
are already leaking in at the window.