By Ilene Kaminsky
I am willing to stand in gentle rain as the red sun sets, But not to stand in a wind storm of sorrow and regret. I used to own all the cloudless azure mornings still to come,
Before I knew my darkness could yield to the sun.
It is another thing now.
I am willing to see the sea sparkle in my lover’s sky blue eyes,
But not shield to my own for fear of drowning in life’s demise.
With honest hearts I will share the depths of my pain,
But with doubting minds I’ve no time left to explain.
It is another thing now.
I once slept deep cradled in his willing arms to rest,
Tonight I’m alone, an ailing hospital guest.
For warmer climes I’d give my body away to science,
To have a chance for a single night slowly dancing in silence.
It’s another thing now.
My time is limited and the day’s run late,
And I’m too busy netting butterflies to follow hardened dates.
There’s no time to waste on those who demand plans written in pen — But long ago and once upon a time I had a calendar without end.
It’s another thing now.
