Poem for a Tuesday

I will wait for you like that blue shirt
you can wear three days without its looking bad.
I will wait for you like the shoes under your bed,
prepared, but without real purpose
without that you come walking, running
with your arms in their blue shirt open.

Autumn is come. I let you go 
a whole day with crumbs in your stubble,
that unshaven, slovenly nonchalance
so beautiful to me I thought it might add
curved, raw, final beauty to the wide world.
Shave if you want. Come forth shining. All the same.

Oh, take away the expensive appetizers,
the white cloth with its fence of forks.
I’m going to sit under a sycamore tree
and eat these two apples, fatal, allegorical,
that rode in your pocket all the day.
One is Time and one is Always.

I eat of each with equal, hungry bites,
waiting for you as lips for the lifted glass.
Take your time. Commit that atrocity of twisted silk
you think is tying a tie. Slob angels hover,
raining crumbs of frankincense and manna.
Take, as I say, your time. I am filled with watching.

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