Wednesday, December 26, 2012

121. Śliczny chłopiec

In the flurry, we
went our
separate ways
yet I return to you,
ablaze from a recent
victory

Conveniently,
the spot beside you is
free

Slipping next to you I
observe the last rounds
and you likely know such
tedium
is not my
aim

When they have cleared,
we take up cards:
I struggle;
you are a stronger
player than
I

Not a victory,
it was a ruse

Pulling the cards away
from my puzzled,
earnest fingers,
I see, I hope it is
I,
my words you
desire

Such tedium is
not your aim
either;
I hope
it may be the same
as mine.

Separate ways:
as we part
you seem anxious,
confused,
timid;
I never know
what you are thinking –
eyes are not so helpful
after
all

I am descending the
stairwell
myself,
alone;
I am passing a
display of books
biographies, calendars, and
things –

I greet the night
sharp breeze reminding me
how early and how
late it
is

It was November
when I wondered if I
had become a
wonderful thing to
you;
walking along the
dry cobblestones
I am smiling:
maybe it is best if we
do not know

Such simplicity, such
novelty
is one such
irreplaceable victory
I will remember,
often and
forever

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson