(with commentary)
I think she’s playing me, he said
But what’s the game, and what’s the prize?
And have I even thought, clear eyed
Of what is is I’m after?
Deep within, beneath the game
The spring of strong desire is wound
We love the way it makes us bound
And we’re compelled to try to find
The way to make our lives align
With all its pent up need to move.
He circles her, he seems to meditate
He dances with some others, but his eyes
Keep turning back: this time, if I approach
Will she allow me to come close?
And yet what leaps must land
Perhaps in some place wild, unplanned
And maybe many weary miles from home
And maybe, so the fear is, all alone
And torn and damaged. Ah, so this is why
We stand alone and hesitate to play.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 9, 2011