Lately, I find myself taking a second look at someone I love—some in my life a short time.
Others, my whole life.
I study their profile,
the bend of their shoulder,
the curve of their cheek,
the texture of their hair or hands…
And I think, “What if he or she is gone tomorrow?”
Suddenly they look different to me
As if I’ve focused a 3D lens—
More sacred—and I shift.
I think, “What if it’s me who’s gone tomorrow?”
Worthless words about the trivial things
that slip out of my mouth so easily
bump against a new gate.
Other more difficult-to-express words from deep pockets drift up.
Sometimes they come out as sounds.
Sometimes as touch. Sometimes as a prayer.
Or a song. Or a scene.
And I shift.