To Donny

You and I have longed,
from time to time,
while life skipped by
from grief to joy
leaving droppings of wisdom
along the way
etching lines around the eyes
and deepening the voice,
that we could speak with the gravity of age
through the instrument of youth
heard in the other room
through whose window I watch you
	ride away.

To know then what we know now
of tastes and smells 
of language and lovers
in all their horror and beauty
breathing in and breathing out
to join the circle of 
	sickness
		and of health.

Such longing is only asking:
Will I die to go back?
	Or you, 
		to stop your years
from ripening?

So we let go of love
	most
		naturally
as the she-bear does her cub -
	and with an omnipotent
		NO
as does the child-