We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. Of someone singing to herself, cleaning a house. To the neighborhood this time of the day, the sound Like fields I remember, a place I was happy with her.Īnd I hear something that might bring a smile The light is good of a Sunday evening, the yard Him sitting out back now and the evening’s coffee It doesn’t seem such a big thing to imagine, The man’s gone, the window cool on my forehead. ![]() It would end this fever whirling around me. It would be something as simple as two neighborsīanter back and forth if the weather is good,Īnd I’d feel better about the year, about loveĪs I leave for work these half-dark mornings. Later, quietly over to the window and lean against me. Like grit cutting each night, long after sleep. I’d ask if he knew how to fix the irritation I feel Stop to talk a little instead of exchanging a nod. I could cross the street and show him the simplest way.Īnd the next time we passed each other he’d You wipe each part until the machine becomes a friend.Īfterwards it will fit back together exactlyĪs the maple next door fits the leaves each year. It is good work, the company of your handsĭemanding nothing more than to be present. To get at the parts caught, jammed with the years They are an easy machine to fix if you know the right screws It might be a vacuum cleaner he’s working on. Outside, the last light has finally worked its wayĭown the garden and the neighbor’s trees, a day finished. She goes upstairs and shuts her sewing room door. On his steps, the pieces set to either side of him.įrom how he works with a pair of pliers, thenĪ screwdriver, and back, he’s not used to thisįinish our meal abruptly, after a sudden argument,Īfter the anger leaving a cold film on the plates. Up the street a solitary man is taking apart a machine Of all, the loveliest lore is love-longing,ĭeath, that many dread, shall be as music, ![]() I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away,Īnd I could give back laughter for the Ocean’s moan! 2. If you could walk with me upon the strand to-day,Īnd tell me that my longing love had won your own, Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold. I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray, If you could sit with me upon the shore to-day,Īnd hold my hand in yours as in the days of old, I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,Īnd not so loud the waves complaining at the shore. If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,Īnd whisper with me sweetest dreamings o’er and o’er ![]() These poems about longing capture that complex emotion perfectly. And yet, in those moments of yearning, we also taste a moment of pure joy. It is the ache of desire, the sweet torture of wanting something we can never have. There is something about longing that is both painful and beautiful.
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