I stop somewhere waiting for you,
a few paces from reason.
Like the morning glory, I
remember
glorifying the gilded blue of new
spreading welcome.
Giddiness overshadowed
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!)
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