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.