I wonder sometimes
if it’s something you fight for?
Your joy, your love--
so many years, gone on,
so many years to love
and never wonder,
what if?
I wonder sometimes,
and wondering,
wallowing really
because to love
with such abandon
would be something else.
You were right:
it was the start of something,
the first. The Last.
You let go first.
So what if
I died that winter?
It wasn’t your fault;
it was fate.
And everything since then
is coming back to life.
It’s slow but it’s worth it.
Alive again,
beyond expectation,
beyond hope,
that awful clinging hope,
and the letting go.
Charles Imbelli 2010
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