The only constant is transience,
so I remain breathless on the brink
of the discovery of tomorrow.
A fresh sorrow, a new loss,
which was yesterday’s gain,
or I may soar into a new victory.
For while we toe the old line,
neither advance nor return
can be said to account for aught.
The deity we most desire and fear,
the power, in joy and peace,
to make and not make life,
visits me, takes leave of me.
Though absent in form,
this savage deity
cups me in a gentle palm,
through day,
through night.
Cherry blossoms drift
A shocking taste of Moonseed
in an indrawn breath.
Kowtow to respectable gambits at midday,
and cherish the night.
Night – my shield from denied dreams of
hushed tropical beaches
where moonbeams light up
not a single juggernaut,
no mechanical tentacles.
Soft tendrils of your hair cling
and burn an everlasting scar on my skin.
Our watches in the darkness
vie with one another
in seldom witnessed battle
for accuracy, faces blind.
I love you to the millisecond
of our days together
and our nights.
1972, ’75, 2014, ’18 poem

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