I have two eyes,
and sometimes they spy upon time—
The explosion to end an exciting beginning
all curled up in the dimple of a bronzed cheek,
or a pottery-red rose yet unfurled by morning dew.
How I could've kissed you; lamented about
how it is that we'd yet to meet despite being a foot or two
apart for the better part of three years. How
I should've kissed you.
Atop the peace tower, for four or so hours,
I could breathe and bind together the thoughts in my mind,
the view of Quebec and the water in between;
the children climbing the railings to get a better view.
Across, the clock kept ticking in its copper tower.
I did lament, ashore a hidden cove of deeply shallow waters;
your broken arms and ribs, the cicatrices embedded in you.
I envied your ability to break away from concern,
how unyielding to danger you are and the pain that comes along.
I jumped from the cliff to be closer to you. The idea of you.
I couldn't keep my eyes on you, your MC hammer pants
and your oblong comments. Especially during your dance
for the spartan men and the sunburst-pleated skirts.
My mind was caught, a fossil in parliament's stone walls.
Now when I read, in the back of my mind, I try to
find the quiet you gave me in the parliamentary library.
In the back of my mind I knew then I only had those four hours
to be with you. I couldn't keep my eyes off the time.
—like the slow return of the shadow on a sundial,
my mind bent ever so slowly towards ...