— for B–
It’s true what they say; that you’re too young for me. And so I’ve decided to stop here, at the age I am, and wait for you.
Later tonight, while you’re sleeping, I will walk into the forest near our home, and find a shaded grove with a tree whose topmost branches scrape the sky. I’ll settle there, at her roots, with my back against her trunk, and take a deep and quiet pause.
It’s hard to say what those years will contain for you.
Twenty years is a long time: you might travel, or take root. I imagine you working and making friends. Falling in, and out, of love. Losing some of those you love; growing scars. There are times you will grow tired, and days that will fill you with transparent wonder. Poems will fall through you, and hit the floor. A line of music will embed itself in the beat of your heart. There may be a war, or a revolution. You may cure humanity of greed, or shoot into the universe and be attired with stars*.
You will grow stronger, and taller, and more strange.
Through all these years–through all this unimaginable change–I will wait. For you.
The phrase ‘attired in stars’ is from John Milton’s poem On Time (c. 1633-34)