for Chris <br /> <br /> <br />I'm a penny fallen from heaven's <br />corner pocket, anybody's overcoat, pick me up <br />and I'll bring you all kinds of luck. I'm a fence <br />burning down, love locked in a box, I'm a map <br /> <br />of hand-me-down tomorrows, the last <br />but one, or anywhere you never wanted <br />to go, but now. I'm a clock without a face, <br />I'm blind like time, so lead me on: wear me <br /> <br />on your wrist and I'll tell you things <br />you might not know, secrets spilled <br />like a rain forecast. I'm a cup you can <br />drink me from, cut glass and lucid <br /> <br />distortion, I'm solid water shattering <br />in hand, or daylight on a midnight <br />lake. Remains is what remains <br />of this, ambiguous number and tense <br /> <br />as any departure, all impossibility collected <br />for your sake. Greenhouse, little summer <br />under winter's latinate lattice of stars, <br />early or old snow, you're the reason <br /> <br />inside things, sheer likelihood: sense of speed <br />in the always almost here, the whitedark justice of us.<br /><br />Reginald Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/motive/
