Time is the problem.
Too much time – not enough time – time on my hands,
time spent worrying, waiting and wondering.
Time in a bottle – time spent with you – time apart –
time to go time to kill time to live time to die.
Time flies when your having fun
and when your not quite ready to be done
and when there’s no time like the present
it is time that makes fools of us.
We are beggared by time, dwindled by time,
second wise and minute foolish.
Time heals all things
except the things Paul seemed to think love might heal…
I hope that this is one of those things that love heals faster than time –
that in this time might fly while we’re having no damn fun at all,
and that’s my fault no matter how desperately I would like to blame someone – everyone – else,
but it’s me and me alone who wandered like Moses – only asking directions –
but there was no burning bush and the desert was concrete
and the people, the people, the people were joyful and fretful
and full of life and time in ways that made me resent them
and wish I were back in your arms instead of foundering here
in this (quite lovely) airport lounge
on the edge of that sand-blasted wilderness that is the GTA.
I’m not amused by my self at the moment,
and very little makes me smile except the thought of you, next to me,
silent with wrath and worry and speechless accusations of my insensitivity –
and I smile, not at your anger, but at the beauty of you
that I see, and have always seen – even at this distance.
Your anger is love to me – and though I dread it –
I treasure it, as I treasure everything about you –
as though this was what study leave is really meant to do:
remind me, again and again, how intertwined is my life with yours –
my soul with yours – my love with yours.
The two shall become one, says the Book –
and though the new interpreters will tell us
that is a metaphor for some damn thing or another,
I know now (and have always known, I think) exactly what it means:
it means without you, less me – with you, only WE –
the two of us, completely misunderstanding one other
because we are so much a part of one another.
Completely missing one another
because of my misapprehension of certain kinds of reality –
like the reality of the first day of summer on the Toronto waterfront
where everyone is and no one knows a damn thing about anything that matters to me.
“Stay on the Island – see the sights” the ferry lady said
after she delivered the grim news of my mistake.
But she couldn’t comprehend
that the most beautiful place in this city –
the most desirable place in the imaginations
of the 10,000 people who beat me to the ferry dock –
the place I was
is the last place I wanted to be.
I want to be with you – angry, delighted – sorrowing, silent –
with you is my place – my only place.
I thought I was a patient man,
until someone told me I must wait.
June 21, 2009 – Toronto Island Airport