A Poem unmeant for Reading

It, it is the ocean of my soul that I commit to you and it is does not heed the you or I or me and its only cares are the care we let it have.

I thought I knew love and you and myself.

But I know that now, at last, I know nothing. That everything that was . . .
was that dream
we all have it . . . a lovers glance, a wink, a nod . . .
then to awaken a different life.

I see this rock in the ocean sand, the claw of a lovers scrabble buried deep,
the endless tide of love and wash of wave and sleep and desire.

Oh my love did I not love you and did you not love me?

I saw the printed words upon the pages left for you.
I have the solidness and well meant words intended for me!

Should we be shamed in our deceit?
Without intent we love in that moment and it last . . .
in a moment I lived a life with you of babies and grandchildren
idealized and perfected without pain, hurt, agony, to roil us so.

Only you passed me in my life.
I in yours.
glimpsing possibilities in reflections of lustful waves of longing
submerged, deep with light and air, gasping hoping for love.


David McCullough
November 11, 2008