Angel

ANGEL
by Peter Alistair

I.

I no longer can stand being near her.
No longer can I stand under
the majesty, the tyranny
of her unfathomable eyes;
No longer can I bleed
for the silent incisions
of her touch;
No longer can I lay dreaming,
lulled as I am,
by each falling note of her laughter;
No longer can I stand waiting
for every beckoning
of her hair’s sweet scent.

I no longer can stand being near her
but to be near her
is all I have ever stood for.

II.

She calls at me and say,
“Be close!”
yet she pulls away
the moment i draw near.

She hangs me then onto
a perilous balance
(tipped so easily only by
the winds of her whim)
and leaves me be.

I struggle forever
to dislodge myself
but only do so bruised,
wounded, and broken.
Limping, I start
to walk away.

But she calls at me and say,
“Be close!”
and without a word,
I turn back.
(In spite of myself,
I almost smile.)

I dust myself off only
and for her once more
I am ready.

III.

She has burned onto my heart
an indelible mark of longing.
Without regard for anything
nor anyone,
my heart sounded her name
across the eternal;
across a field of stars
across the night.
Yet its echoes, I fear,
shall eventually
find my bones, my sinew,
and there reverberate;
and there end me.