Poetry By
William Clunie
Published on: 10/20/2009
Plenitude
When you get to be this age you wonder if the calm inside your chest is wisdom or the onslaught of decrepitude, or no more than a chance alignment of yourself with the tide, the promise of a quiet summer at the beach. Whatever: I'll enjoy it while it lasts. There's bounty here still on this northwest edge of America. We've not yet learned to parcel out the moon or sun or stars, and the seagulls, for now, look healthy. And then there's you walking beside the water, my old friend. You look as natural on this shore as in my bed, and I know you know it too - your smile: as big as the sun above your head. When love grows up it doesn't ask for more than what it has, or why. There is plenty here inside the sea, beneath the sand, and behind the sky.
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