For Sylvia
We've spent thirty years together
gazing
through our windows. Before it's too
late, I
want us to peek into a deep pool
bordered
by fairy lanterns, walley baskets,
larkspur,
and Chinese houses, where a snake
glides,
eyes above water, and frogs, face-down, cling
to stone, where orioles and tanagers
flash
through branches, where a deer peers at
us
from behind ferns and a wildcat
crouches
in grass near an outcropping of rock.
Perhaps
a golden palace looms on some far-off
cliff,
but the treasure we want abides in this
window:
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| Path 12 |
a golden, equal-armed cross; golden
cups
and plates on a brilliant, white
tablecloth;
an invisible sun rising through a
lemniscate;
a glittering diamond rooted in the
depths.
This window remains too deep to fathom.
In some windows we have witnessed
strife
and sickness, tawdriness and horror,
reflections
and extinctions, yet in this pool, our
souls,
with birds and massive trees and rocks,
rise
into exaltations of the sun. If some
day
I am gone, seemingly nowhere to be
found,
remember, I will be there, waiting for
you.
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