Poem for the Ending of the Year

What do I say to you, you who know me

and know what I am capable of ? I can give you

nothing I have not already offered but the desire

to keep on offering it, not asking for return.

It is not a petty bargain that we make, not a totting up

of meaningless figures, more a delight in the giving,

the hope of acceptance. My hand is open to you.

 

The years move along, crawling and running,

matching our work and rest, our sluggishness,

boredom, our moments of laughter and our silences.

The end of the century begins its slow approach.

Neither wants to be in this position when it comes

yet know we will look back to say, we were happy then,

we were young, we knew what desire was.

Originally published in my collection The Fiddle (Stride 1999)