A thing so large, so grand
cannot be held out for offering
with one hand,
the other merely idling by
in the shadow of a mountainous sky.
One hand cannot balance the weight
of what’s promised if the other hesitates,
there can be no song
without both rhythm and tune
recall, the sun’s light begat the moon.
Oh what fate to be a partial force
divided by fear, and fear the most
to bear the gift of love,
yet be crippled by a doubtful heart–
cruel fate in which I want no part.
January 13, 2009
New York City