Maybe you curse me,
seething beneath your breath
and say you wish you'd
never met me. 

You are angry with me,
I suppose, blaming my preference
for honesty for your
rude awakening,

Just as I twenty years past
shrunk into myself and became
a thousand stars spnning,
blinded by love's light. 

Your silence is no more 
deafening. It is simply a wave
I surf upon, face forward,
looking for the sun.

And there you are, blazing
fireball on longest, darkest night,
ever fixed on some finish line,
out of life, out of time.

So is it my turn again for
a rude awakening? Will you
see and still not see, pass
me by, burn me silently?

Or will we manage to unite
fire of day, cool of night, sun, moon
see starry-souled mystery
reflected in river running wild?

Whichever it may be, I thank you
for rude awakening then. I will not sleep
nor will I deny you any joy
or race you wish to run.

All I ask is that you not shun
the moon and mystery because of me.
Shut not your eyes to starlight.
Rest, but fall not back asleep.