To Bloom



I can see right through me today.

I can see through this desk and

chair, and sedentary room;

through this empty house, and

the rooms I no longer go into;

through the unlatched front door,

and the overgrown path that brought

us here. I can see past the stoic

oak and the mourning cypress

tree in the front yard, and past

the century plant waiting to bloom.

And, of course, now I can see

right through this poem. But,

I still can’t see past you.