Wary

I know now why I am wary of you,

why I'm careful about what I say and do:

It's because I'm afraid to leave pieces of

myself with someone else--

pieces, like old photographs, they stuff in a box

and put on a shelf.

I'm afraid of having no part of you

to carry with me when we're gone;

or that I may have too much with me,

that the missing may be long.

I'm afraid I may get used to seeing you

at the same times every day, 

so much that I cannot move on

when you've gone away. 

I've put my heart too much in you--

I've stitched yours in with mine.

I fear the parting hole won't heal--

no needle and thread with time.

So I try to cut my ties with you

before they're strongly made; 

I'll pretend it never happened,

force the memories to fade. 

I try and want and cannot do

--that I'm still wary is true-- 

but it is because I find I care too much for you. 

 

Weeping Without

I know how those widows go without--

why they do not weep for their beloveds 

or grieve overly long,

why when the shock of a new silence leaves 

their lives they find a new peace in days without sound--

they go without because they know 

the going will not be long;

and yet I weep because I know you are already gone

and will be forever. 

I am already without you though I do not want to be so. 

Somehow the pearls of Peter's gate will not shine,

if I must pass through without you.

Nor will angelic choirs sing so sweetly as your own voice

softly saying my name with more praise than 

any alleluia chorus. 

The ennui of saintly wisdom would envelope me,

only because it would seem less wise than your own words--

with succinct sentences edifying the heart better

than any of their tomes--

you explicate "love" and "faith" and "hope" with 

greater understanding than their own authors. 

I think only weeds would grow in an Eden without you--

or else the petals of all those paradisiacal flowers would 

wither and brown in the drought of your presence, the sun

not rising if you will not help it. 

Though I'd inhabit marbled palaces, they would

be only mud and pitch in your absence. 

 

Even God's glory is dim without your light. 

This is not the peace and rest the preacher told me.

The widows do not weep because they are not always without.

I weep because I am already without you for always.