Wednesday, June 12, 2013

This Side of the Bourne

Everyone tells me when the angels come I'll know it's real but I'm not so sure. I mean, it worked for my grandmother but so what? Remember, I've been close enough to black bears to touch them. Certain trails I could walk with my eyes closed and not step wrong.

Also, I keep a list of women I've kissed, women for whom I've sung songs, and women before whom I've cried. I'm kidding of course! But you were pretty good company, in your own way, at least for a while. I always liked that picture of you reaching toward the horses and kind of hoped I'd see you do it again.

Here's to lovers and wives! Here's to the women who said "I'll try," even though it wasn't enough. The lilac is gone and I won't see it again on this side of the bourne. Here's to Jesus too, who probably would have been happy just to keep on building benches.

Ah, what sentence is better than the sixteenth? The seventeenth? You fall easily into a pattern, don't you? It's okay - they work for a while, until they don't.

I can't find my glasses anymore. My old friend Mariah said one last time for the books and straddled me by the dying fire. We say yes, or something like it, and nothing special happens. And still the maple trees hunker down to listen as I pass, as if I know something they don't.

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