even

none of this, not the feelings,
nor the crafted descriptions
or the sometimes clever rhymes --
none of any of this work,
or the words that assemble
on the parade ground that is
this very page --
will ever be able to conspire
to make us even,
you and I;
just like Billy Collins's lanyard,
it is, however well-done and
well-crafted,
just not up to the task,
and yet just like the boy
trying to repay his mother
with woven plastic,
I try in these lines to somehow
offer equivalence
for all that you give me,
for all the songs that you enable
my heart to sing:
and yet for all my intentions,
we will never be even;
the beauty of you and I is
that we never need to be.



March 22, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.