Poem Of The Week: 2/19/2005

	Granted

Granted, it
is supposed to be
a shooting star sort of entrance
when bride-to-be emerges
into the room she becomes bride in: but you

stepped out
over the forest patio from a door opening years
away, but you
moving like light:
with such abundant grace
that the blaze of it seems actually everyday;

you, the calendar announcing "Autumn"
but even the oaks procrastinating;
you, footsteps so definite they must
have pressed, like wet sand, into the bricks;
you,

moving at me across the sky,
one hand held out, this
one flecked chance to grasp
as you
shoot by.

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