They Say It Can't Be Done

I must admit that I directly and intentionally plagiarized one of the best poets I know in this piece, my dear friend Laura. Her Venn diagram image has stuck with me ever since I first read it in one of her poems.

An additional note on this poem: it is not personal. That is, I am talking about no specific person, although it was inspired by recent events. A good man I have never met died last night, and this poem partially expresses my grief that I will not (until heaven) get to learn from him or thank him for some of the greatest blessings ever to touch my life. 


(courtesy, flickr user *~Uplifting Arts~*)

They Say It Can't Be Done

There is nothing to connect our souls.
Not a rope, not a strand, not one fiber
that by tugging both our hearts may be pulled.
Our circles do not Venn-like overlap.
My friends know nothing of your friends.
and your mother does not know mine.
Our cities were built centuries apart.
The Zodiac sets us directly opposite.
It snowed when you were born;
it rained over me.

We are wholly separate.
And yet my soul cannot help
but fit inside yours, convex to concave.
But there is nothing to meld us
until I remember the grand order of things.
There are two threads.
We can start here, and move from here.
Just two, and in the midst of them
I stake my justified love for you.

Two things:
You see the sun.
I see the sun.
You see the moon.
I see the moon.

(c.l.)