Promises
Such closeness;
a phone brings us nearer,
you invade my space
on pretext of a call.
The lesson is hair, and how
good it smells, and how
the voice in my body that calls you
feels. Innocent child
yourself, bearer of children,
you blossom in the afternoon
and light up the school hour.
When we die, these thoughts
will become clear, as pilgrims
to the lost place, where all gather
to relate individual promises
that came true.
© George Wicker 2006