On Thursday Morning 3: 55 Am Poem by Tony Walton

There lies One whose Name is writ in Water'
john Keats (1795-1821)

Lying here imagining what would happen if
we wound back to that Time and Place and
met all over again?
And you knew it was me
and
I knew it was you.
Sure, it's a worn hypothetical but
pictures don't come down easy from the wall.

Would we talk about why it didn't work?

I doubt it, for we are not yet wise enough
to speak of such matters.
We are younger, slimmer, less gray -
which, and it must be said, is akin to
gaining your sight back - only better.

Now there we are chatting in the blue July air
with the gentle idleness of summer grass. You are
cooled by my contemplative calm and I warm in your
light.

Or maybe we are like veterans at a war
reunion - survivors of each other.Speaking
of future shared horrors: battles won and
lost.

Hell - we could screw, argue, have a Mexican
marriage, or split.

But wait - I notice the way your lower lip
drops and you raise your eyebrows ever so
slightly when telling a joke. And how your
crushed diamond eyes cut through my eminence front.

Truth is - I've been watching your lure all
evening from afar as you go about spawning gardens
from the soles of your feet.

So what happens later:well, it gets my full attention.



It's odd isn't it? That long look back to see
where our choices are born.

But time is a thief and it never gets caught.

Anyway - with our damn luck the clock would strike
12 and the spell would broken as in some
Cinderella fable.

'Please Fairy Godmother, give me just one more
hour, then I'll go, I promise."