Then Shall I Turn My Face
In times of weakness, bleakly I imagine
What a year we might have had if you
And I had never met, and that a year
Defined as ours instead was mine and yours
Apart, with no collision of the two.
Without the fusion of our bodies on
That frantic winter evening, when you warned
Me not to panic if I happened to
Desire you, then, to all intents, our one
Event horizon would have been unborn
And growth would have occurred without
The other’s catalytic stimuli to guide
Its pattern. So, my morning eggs, when scrambled,
Now would not contain that hint of salmon
You encouraged me sufficiently to try,
Nor would your eyes shine bordered by a liner
I fastidiously found you, nor would
Either of us use the other’s wording
To describe things, or would both our weddings
Owe their future date to our departing vows.
And how would we have spent those days
And nights our precious memories preserve?
With whom would we have lazed upon the grass,
Amazed and spangled, to observe the stars if
Not each other? Who could play upon your nerves
As well as I, could play my cares as well
As you? And tell me, who would be disposed,
When you were at your very lowest,
To have found you sleeping in your clothes
And held you, but the one who loved you most?
Would you have woken in your misery,
Alone? Would it be more, or less, severe?
Did we exacerbate our pain by having
Someone near to share it? Though our suffering
Was smothered, did we otherwise increase it?
And although the crack that formed by our withdrawing
Must be filled, someday, somehow, might it have
Never been conceived had not so willingly
We cleaved it in the first place? What if, really,
We were better off by never having been?
Since any hurt that blights us now, that fights
Our will to persevere, could not exist,
Would have no leg to stand on, nor would
Longing for the year we shared so cruelly scar
The prospect of the year we face alone, unloved-
Enough. The year we spent apart does not exist
And I am glad. For though that me is not
Unhappy, he does not in fact resemble me
At all; and I will wear your marks with pride
For they were yours, and laid with glory once.
In times of weakness, bleakly I imagine
What a year we might have had if you
And I had never met, and that a year
Defined as ours instead was mine and yours
Apart, with no collision of the two.
Without the fusion of our bodies on
That frantic winter evening, when you warned
Me not to panic if I happened to
Desire you, then, to all intents, our one
Event horizon would have been unborn
And growth would have occurred without
The other’s catalytic stimuli to guide
Its pattern. So, my morning eggs, when scrambled,
Now would not contain that hint of salmon
You encouraged me sufficiently to try,
Nor would your eyes shine bordered by a liner
I fastidiously found you, nor would
Either of us use the other’s wording
To describe things, or would both our weddings
Owe their future date to our departing vows.
And how would we have spent those days
And nights our precious memories preserve?
With whom would we have lazed upon the grass,
Amazed and spangled, to observe the stars if
Not each other? Who could play upon your nerves
As well as I, could play my cares as well
As you? And tell me, who would be disposed,
When you were at your very lowest,
To have found you sleeping in your clothes
And held you, but the one who loved you most?
Would you have woken in your misery,
Alone? Would it be more, or less, severe?
Did we exacerbate our pain by having
Someone near to share it? Though our suffering
Was smothered, did we otherwise increase it?
And although the crack that formed by our withdrawing
Must be filled, someday, somehow, might it have
Never been conceived had not so willingly
We cleaved it in the first place? What if, really,
We were better off by never having been?
Since any hurt that blights us now, that fights
Our will to persevere, could not exist,
Would have no leg to stand on, nor would
Longing for the year we shared so cruelly scar
The prospect of the year we face alone, unloved-
Enough. The year we spent apart does not exist
And I am glad. For though that me is not
Unhappy, he does not in fact resemble me
At all; and I will wear your marks with pride
For they were yours, and laid with glory once.