By Sue Yurick(yuricksl@iserv.net)
Date: 1 June 1999

To Michael, asleep on the train

The young exhaust themselves.
We middle-aged have learned
To pace our days,
To bank the fires that burned.
We're masked in past experience;
It stays in place
Far better than the innocence
On your dream-face.

You will protest,  declare I am naive
to callyou innocent, but I believe
No harm you've done so far
Could be as grave
As my forgiven sins.

I want to touch your sleeping face,  serene.
I want to love you with a love so clean
That no one's heart will break.
Too late, impossible: I hear mine crack
With that dull thump much-mended hearts must make,
Drowned by the iron rumble of the track.