Things we look at,
In the mind’s eye conceived,
As by each other assured.

The constancy is as the bird by the window or
The historian’s thick tome.
Subject as project, the illuminations of the manuscript
With a light hand hiding the process with grace.
We are quick to the conclusions, cheating to the last page,
Wanting everything ourselves,
To start fresh with another page,
Another blank from which we might say,
I see truly to you and you touch me,
Aloft as in the morning,
Repetitive, certainly coming again.

You year, you come again.
You chickadee, panther, Great Auk,
When will you come with your world again
To support, sustain and create a new with
The blemishes, the immensities of time past.

Time to come but a copy,
Now out of reach.
Give me your eye,
Your moment love of a clutch and
Time over many nights for
The intimate conversation.

By Rolf Stavig

12-20-2020