Occam's Razor Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Less complicated and more beautiful
When you don’t wear an expression,
I will never know what you are thinking
Except that you love your father.
When he held you as a little girl,
You were free to believe in nothing.
Behind your house the trees began
And the indiscernible cry the birds gave
As they tried to dissuade the sun from setting:
But even that, you soon learned
Was inevitable, as was sleep though
You found time to be alone.
I like to think perhaps you thought
Of me, before you ever knew me,
Even more so than after our brief encounters,
The way I thought of you when
I was four years old and cut
My knee on a toolbox:
I could see you driving south along the highway,
Your eyes situated out the window
In a kind of cerulean future.
And even then I knew you would run
Beside me once our twice,
As our lives shared the coincidences
Of the greatest triviality,
But I have never known looking into
Your brown eyes in passing
If you ever thought of me as someone
Worth recognizing, which is your beauty
And the source of my love.