Behold, nothing is still.
If you look, no, look
And still your eye
On the cypress, the brook
Is easy, but the cypress too—
Watch them,
Go, now; eyes, open;
They, meant to hide, quake
In prescient wind, slow
But moving.
Move in close, see
The distance increase.
In, now; lean, now;
Titanic movements
Beneath them, shake
With each second moving
In atomic cadence—
Worlds, even after all this time,
Unknown to me still.
As we move into each other
Each day and year,
Drawing near,
Epochs passing by us,
Look, now; even, now;
These last, loving moments, quake
In prescient wind, slow
But moving.
Beloved, O how I love you still.
“Old men ought to be explorers
Here and there does not matter
We must be still and still moving…” –T.S. Eliot, “East Coker”.
Written to my Sweet Danielle for our tenth anniversary.

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