When I Was Your Age
Your words are edged
with longing as you tell me
that when I was your age
I lived a dream:You set that out
on the table
between usmaking it clear how
you stand outside
my generation's dream
of a better worldjust looking in.
But there is more
than nostalgia
between usmore than limping from day
to tiresome day.There is an ancient wing
preserved in the amber
of memoryinstructing us both
how to take flight—and the nap of possibility
smoothed in our
taking hands.There is a bulletin of hope
with your name on itlike the one given me
when I was your age—the one I still look for
in your eyes.
