All I Could Not Be
When your feet bleed from running,
and you are forced to face the griefs
that chase you, weep not for me.
I am all I could not be before.
I am a seed in a dandelion,
waiting to be plucked, made to carry
the wish of a child,
never again a man’s desire.
I am a drop of water in the sea,
slipping through grips that cannot hold me,
evaporating and raining on the skin
of those who need cleansing.
When you hear my whisper in a wind,
wonder what secrets I never shared, know
they are yours and hers too, but weep not for me.
I am a petal, there to tickle your nose,
to remind you of sweet things
that still exist, anticipate us,
in this thorny world.
I am the star winking back, holding
the sky for the weary woman who never sleeps,
who finally crawls out of bed just before dawn,
to search the horizon for a sign like persist.
When the season passes and you laugh again,
then remember all the moments
we have lost, weep not for me.
I am a leaf in the sycamore with branches
sturdy for climbing. I listen to summertime
screams and, in the autumn, catch
the carefree falls of children.
I am a sun finger, stretching through space
and time, through clouds, windows
and pillows, one hundred million miles
to dry a girl’s tears. Yours too.
When you’re on the bus, riding through the city,
absently gazing through crowds, and for a split
second you see me in a stranger’s face, weep not for me.
I am there too.
