You (ii.0)

You did not ask for this, could live
A life without it.  You will not be moved
Upon reading this line, or the next,
Or the last, or any in between.
What harks your heart may heed
Will voice rightful doubt at the curative
Juice of this word (or the next,
Or the last, or any in between);
It would have only been you,
This trance, created and unnamed,
Or given too many names, too much
Weight to bear:  what pedestal'd stance
You were stood before you existed!
What gloriously overbearing expectations
You were given to uphold!  Yes, you were
Busy creating stone to give back to ground
But I could not know the improbability of mold;
Yes, you walked lightly to clutch gravity
But I could not know the possibility of fall; I have
Blithely spoken to you from near and far with
This phrase (or the next, or the last, or any
In between).  You knead sand to form, create
A store of hold and have, a line of here but not
Here:  I count the coats, the leaves, the pieces
Of texture between there and not there; I am
Felled to you, and what haunts you bring,
The shine of this turn, or the next,
Or the last, or any in between.


 (c) 2007-12 Mark A. Douglas