Looking back now, I see

I was dispassionate too often,

dismissing the robin as common,

and now can't remember what

robin song sounds like. I hoarded

my days, as though to keep them

safe from depletion, and meantime

I kept busy being lonely. This

took up the bulk of my time,

and I did not speak to strangers

because they might be boring,

and there were those I feared

 

would ask me for money. I was

clumsy around the confident,

and the well bred, standing on

their parapets, enthralled me,

but when one approached, I

fled. I also feared the street's

down and outs, anxious lest

they look at me closely, and

afraid I would see their misery.

 

I feared my father who feared

me and did not touch me,

which made me more afraid.

My mother feared him too,

and as I grew to be like him,

she became afraid of me also.

I kept busy avoiding dangers

of many colors, fleeing from

those with whom I had much

 

in common. Now afternoon,

one chair in the garden. Late

low light, the lilies still open,

sky beyond them preparing

to close for the night. I'd

made money, but had I kissed

 

a single lily? On the chair's

arm my empty cup. Its curved

lip struck, bright in late light.

I watch that last light going,

leaving behind its brief burning

which will come to nothing.

 

The lilies still open, waiting.

 

Let me be that last sliver of light.

Let me be that last gleaming sliver of silver,

there for an instant on the lily's petal,

 

light speaking in tongues, tongues of flame.