in passing (second time) | |
so secretly vulnerable, | |
you child, | |
the restless, intense little girl | |
with the ash hair and steel eyes, | |
who still makes strong showing | |
in her silent fight with mid-life; | |
perennial grace, | |
draped in your soft-fitting white: | |
the only caress | |
you allow of yourself. | |
and if someone held you, | |
I think you would shatter | |
to sharp gleaming slivers | |
before you would fold in their arms | |
and when we passed | |
I averted my eyes, | |
in case you'd read in them | |
the pain of what I just said. | |
© Jon Bohrn (1999) |