Reflections

I should have photographed while I learned you-
while I memorized the way you breathe,
the patterns your hands dance,
the tones and topics which lift your head
and let your eyes glisten.

I should have painted you when he wouldn't,
and caught your name
in the heavy strands of my brush,
sang it in swirls of color and highlight,
perfect and undefined.

"A little longer, " I said
"A little while,
before I'll know just what to do."

Just how to hand you
those tiny pieces of you: bits of mirror,
to show you how you glow so brilliant
it hurts to look too long.

I should have written you poems

Now I do not have the right.
Now, our voices stay in our throats,
and our eyes are sidecast.

Now I only see you,
as you pull the door closed behind;
the tail of your skirt nearly catching,
slipping back, then away, like a dream-
silent, like a cat who never cries.