Soon Is Always Too Late
If she arrives soon
it will be too late.
The one who makes you weep
like sparkling rain,
happy to be her joy, her pain
that one will come too soon;
for you will be gone
your longing
just an echo in a music box.
Kismet is for Arabian Nights.
The bright points of departure and arrival
are always moving, nothing is fixed,
some blink on; some blink out
as if they were long lost wishes
upon a star map.
When she waits for you
you will have found another.
When you seek her
she will always be beyond
the next streetlight
in a foreign city.
The rain will weep,
the poetry of loss
will remain unfound,
yet if she returns
entering your life
out of a missing yesterday
then let that be your future
a tomorrow that arrives
as timeless
as a song yet unsung.
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