Distance

From up here, the insomniac
ppppppp river turning in its bed
ppp looks like a line somebody painted
pppppp so many years ago it's hard
to believe it was ever liquid; a motorboat
pppppp winks in the sun and leaves a wake
that seals itself in an instant, like the crack
pppppppppp in a hardly broken heart.

pppppppppp And the little straight-faced houses
ppppppp that with dignity bear the twin
pppp burdens of being unique and all alike,
ppppppp and the leaf-crammed valley like the plate
of days that kept on coming and I ate
pppp though laced with poison: I can look
over them, from this distance, with an ache
pppppppppp instead of a blinding pain.

pppppp Sometimes, off my guard, I half-
ppppppp remember what it was to be
pppp half-mad: whole seasons gone; the fear
ppppppp a stranger in the street might ask
the time; how feigning normality
ppppp became my single, bungled task.
What made me right again? I wouldn't dare
pppppppppp to guess; was I let off

pppppp for good behavior? Praise
ppppppp to whatever grace or power preserves
pppp the living for living...Yet I see the square
ppppppp down there, unmarked, where I would pace
endlessly, and as the river swerves
pppp around it, wonder what portion of
love I'd relinquish to ensure
pppppp I'd never again risk drowning.


From A KISS IN SPACE (Alfred A. Knopf, 1999)