If, if I could wind
The rusty hinges of your clock
Back to the place, the beginning,
where the numbers disappear
and the hands rest forever,
I would.
If I could unweight your scales
and if, for only a second,
you could know weightlessness,
I would.
If I could hold up a mirror to you,
And allow you to see not your mind,
But the limitless truth;
your yearning for love, a walk through sunlit pines,
a moment–out of time–laying on the grass, naming clouds,
I would.
To rewind, if I could,
And whisper to you,
what you have enabled me to learn,
of the endless depths;
of feeling and meaning
and thereby unlearn it myself,
I would.
If I can dismantle my walls,
brick by brutal brick
And find the lost keys
to my battle tested gates,
and share with you not what I wish you were,
but what I’m infinitely grateful
you are,
I will.