You permit me these thoughts,
These hopes, these stairs, these sights
From the top, with the city trees in view,
As I depart the station. If I saw you,
Before I was allowed to know you were
My love, my maker, making all these things occur,
You, the one who is coming,
You, much more than my troubled thoughts—
I would be too excited; I would fall down the stairs.
The fact that you are not here protects me.
If I saw you, if you were to be seen, to add
To what is only my sad, daily scenery,
A light in shadow emerging below,
Perhaps between those two parked cars,
On that street, where every day, I go
On my interminable commute, my commute would be
Over in an instant, the rapid light and shade.
I am walking down the stairs carefully,
Cool but excited, writing this in my head—
Seeing you? This poem? Is that what you made?