Turning

Miles between now and my

apartment cycle their

seasons - green spring

turns to a yellow fall

and finally red hot summer.

Turning's third stretch brings

me to you.

This right. That left.

A slowing stop plays

in my eye as I

accelerate through the

next season. A sequence

reduces the yards between

our skin to

a few feet.

What distance,

though,

remains between us?

Take this turning or pass.

The wheel wants to circle,

but I drive through the miles

to my waiting book, yesterday's

plates, my blank chair. Let us leave

your turning to another day.

//

Susan 20 Jul 06