Through the strains of these veins, water did flow.
Nutrient-rich from root through trunk to tip.
For generations did this Ginkgo owe
None but itself a yearning chance to rip
Through Earth’s sullen view and stand above land,
And yet selflessly did its downturned leaves
Provide a curtain-like home to the ant,
A haven where songs of the birds could weave
Wise ancient tales of unwavering tunes.
Those selfsame leaves dance and shimmer like jewels,
Fluttering freely across many moons,
Bearing witness to all systems of rules.
I rub these veins, asking with my fingers,
“When we’re all gone, what is left, that lingers?”
Something deep inside these ancient tracks keeps
us safe to hide while holding on. Feeling
too much, seeing it all. At least all you
can see, because you know you know nothing.
So something tender clings to you like your
favorite pair of jeans, knowing your thigh and
your seat so well. Remember when you knew
her well. Her body like that. So close and
so tender. You both knew each other and
the world didn’t matter.
When did the world come crashing in? When did
we let go of the sails and just give in?
I want to swim to you I want you to
see me. As you once saw me. Can that be?
Where eyes once burned so clearly for me that
now beyond them I don’t know what will be
because I can’t see a thing but this pen.
I cling to my words and my memories
And suppose I’m happy just to have been
part of your life and you a part of mine.
Something tender clings, something deep inside
that stirs sleepless nights from me and takes me
to places within myself I didn’t
know I had. I guess there’s a journey in that.
And plenty of writing to do.