You of the oblivious abyss,
of the dark canyon;
Eschewed within the estuary
of your witheringly turbulent despair.
You of strong silent undercurrent:
Muted frailty
carved in quiet centuries of stone.
I see you there.
We walk backward into the future
with eyes trained on the past.
The past is a mirror
of all the things we are.
We reflect
the might have been,
the dare not,
the never could.
All the things we never were,
we shall never be.
I see you
when you do not look at me;
And I look away, for fear
you will not see me
not being here.
Fall 1978