11 If I Knew

So little time, and if I knew

I would rush out into streets and  alleys,

down to the sunny marsh

to watch herons fish.


I would take up with the neighborhood,

make acquaintance with the Labrador

who barks in the yard and needs a walk

and I would offer to walk him.


I would call you up, and say let’s meet

and talk about everything

let’s meet before the sun goes down

drink cups of delicious coffee


get to know each other again

before I take off on my spring bicycle

whose tires I have just pumped up

and I’d ride hands-free like a child.


And if I knew how little time

I’d lie in bed with her the whole evening

after a crispy salad and vegetable lasagna

and we would watch the late show, chuckle, and fall asleep.


I would wake in the early dark morning

kneel by the window, listen for the train’s horn

as it hauls freight from mysterious Indiana

and the night moon still rides high.


I would do these things, I would

celebrate the very sidewalks,

I would call out to all the world

love this, love me, there is so little time.