Thursday, April 18, 2013

134. Cherub

Dearest one:
blankets spread,
scattered
on the bed,
legs splayed
at an unnaturally
natural
angle;

How many years
it has been
since we were
both young,
carefree –

could I wish
you would retain
the happinesses
only youth
affords
and that life
will be
kind
to
you

Cheeks flushed from
a day of
activity,
breathing slow and
deep, contented
oxygen filling each
breath –

Exuberance,
tempered by the quiet night;
plush dog
in tow,
I am at once
completely at
one
yet an
intruder all the
same

In such
imperfect repose
do we find the sweetest
joys –

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson