Harelquin

The Harlequin Man

        Are you for real? I look at you and think,
           You are a fantasy--you have to be,
           that quiet rugged strength of mountain men,
           the Dalai Lama's otherworldly calm,
           a warm midsummer night's most puckish charm
           seem flawlessly all rolled up into one.

        Men such as you are found in romance books.
           Oh, not that I would read that sort of thing.
           You understand, quixotic soul I am,
           I do not need pretend tomfoolery
           to fill my mind with possibilities
           and that is why I need to know your truth.

        Are you for real, you Nature's knight in jeans
           who spends your time protecting lands not yours
           from specious claims of non-existent roads
           so that they can remain forever free
           from men who cannot see the ancient trees
           which stand right there behind the mighty buck.

        Are you for real, you simple passion's child
           who lives your life with such disarming ease
           that instantly I find myself intrigued--
           yes, even when that isn't your intent--
           which makes me wonder just what could you do
           if ever you would try enchanting me.

        And is there anything you haven't done.
           you teacher and whitewater rafting vet,
           truck-driving man who keeps two cats as pets,
           who captures views of such unearthly peace
           that surely they must be rewards from God
           in recognition of a life well spent?

        And if you said you once ran with the bulls
           I swear I wouldn't be surprised at all.
           Adventurer, you'd have made Papa proud.
           You seem to have lived ten lives to my one.
           Is that why you appear so large to me,
           You Gulliver-Goliath of a man?

        Are you for real? I have to know the truth.
           Am I just seeing what I want to see,
           or could you be exactly as you seem?

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