THE YEARS IT’S BEEN
I may not find in this icy window
one uncorrupted face,
one clear passage from image to architect
from eye to mouth.
It was surely an exaggeration on my part
since I have known you,
for a second, a minute, an hour.
your lifetime makes no excuses,
merely peers unstained
out at an impure world.
I look at you here,
always in isolation,
never to be doubted,
prospering so selflessly
like spring foliage
or the honing of a silvery sea rock.
Even doing nothing more
than making your own image,
For your world’s an accidental mirror.
Time floats in and out.
© John Grey 2021
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, Leaves on Pages is available through Amazon.