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THE HAUNTING LINGER
THE HAUNTING LINGER
It seems we are forever taking our leave; always turning
Around like this so that we find our self in the posture of
Someone gone. In that moment only is a haunting linger.
In the coming to event horizons we hold a lingering gaze
As if to bring into focus an insipient reality we can recognize;
Such lingering last until our perusal turns into dismissiveness.
We seem to have loyalty only to our persistent customs and
In the gaze of the unfamiliar we linger only to pose a query
To see if this new threshold could wear away an older threshold.
Turning around and looking into this valley of forgetfulness
I see the haunting eyes of all the dismissals of my previous gazes;
Eyes as tallow as mine that somehow failed to see me as I them.
There is a longing for rekindling in these discursive hindsights
That can only be assuaged by a renewing love choosing to stay;
A love that decides to turn and turn again recursively to itself.
Yes, all experience seems to fall away by some kind of deadening;
It seems that all lingering is haunting and terrifying as if a shoe
Will drop or that some commitment will engender not leaving.
