You came late to your children,
As if unaware, as if dumbfounded
By the light.
You, breathless, demanded,
And I, helpless, waited,
The way a dog will sit for scraps,
The way a new moon longs for the sun.
You never knew me;
That’s your business.
But lately I find myself
Looking at your portrait
Trying to find some weakness,
Some bit of doubt
Let slip in that long moment.
Instead I see
The mirror of your eyes,
Behind which looms
An inaccessible mystery.
exiles child 