All That I Could Wish For You
All that I could wish for you or anyone else
is more than I could attain for myself.
So far from home for so long
as if home were the alibi
that put the distance between me and a lie
I got sick of telling myself
to feel I belonged somewhere to some people
who might look up from the compass
of what they’re doing once and awhile
into the thirty-six years of my absence
and care that I’m not there anymore.
So I wish you a door that opens
before you need to knock.
And a thief in a window you leave unlocked
so he can steal your heart like sterling silver
and pawn it off as moonlight.
I suspect most people are way too clever
to ever be loved the way they want to be
and I’m not saying that I’ve never been graced
by the mystery
of waking up beside someone I loved
dreaming next to me
about things I know nothing of
because love keeps its deepest secrets to itself
like water on the moon
but I wish you the purest of fountains
from the sweetest wellsprings of life
that don’t look upon the reflections of the clouds
or the leaves and birds that come to sip from its glass
as just another mouthful of polluted words
indelible as headlines
disposable as trash.
My light’s been bent
by a lot of black holes and gravitational eyes
in the five billion light years it’s taken to get here
like a past I almost forgot I had
and I’m not saying that’s bad
though it’s relatively slow
compared to the speed of thought
that overtook it like a hawk
coming down on a morning dove.
But I wish you the immensity of a clear night sky
it will take you forever to disappear in
because of all the things
you can learn to say good-bye to in this world
the hardest farewell to master is love.
I’ve always been grateful
for the gifts I’ve been given
and endeavoured like any other B.C. salmon
to make a gift of a gift
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poem by Patrick White
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