I stop somewhere waiting for you,
a few paces from reason.
Like the morning glory, I remember
glorifying the gilded blue of new
by beckoning back to day’s end,
by collapse into creases
the sepal skirt that hemmed
me to the skies of us.
I remember how to decay, a beginning.
I stop waiting for you somewhere.
This poem, which borrows the final line of Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" for a first line, is a finalist in David Lehman's column "Next Line, Please" of The American Scholar. You can vote for any of the six finalists at: https://theamericanscholar.org/i-stop-somewhere-waiting-for-you/#.WAqAVmWTRBY (But you must vote in poetic form!)