Guzlowski-Stepek: The Never-ending Poem

Outside the window a deer bends to the grass,  opens its mouth,  bites the brown grass  waiting there for spring. I want to say I’m waiting too,  waiting for some spring,  waiting for the day  like no other day,  but those are lost somewhere,  lost in memory,  a locked room. The deer hears me  behind the window and looks up.   His eyes see me, see everything.   He turns his head and moves further down the hill.

My hands close around your fingers like a guitarist feels for his strings tuning the instrument carefully I’m waiting, silent at your settled couch for the music I’ve forgotten, the lyrics we used to sing together,  the words I have forgotten. Was it always this way?  Was my voice once full of harmony?  My ears hear nothing,  I'm in tune with nothing.  Outside the window  the sun pierces the grey clouds,  beams ignite the snow.

My hands are lost, the fingers gone,  the music they doodle lost.  A morning like every morning. I’m waiting here  at the kitchen table for the faces I’ve forgotten, the voices I’ve forgotten,  the words they said forgotten. Was it always this way?  Was my silence full of questions?  My eyes seeing nothing,  wondering at nothing?  I look out the window  see darkness in the grey clouds,  shadows in the snow.