A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.   Jose Luis Borges

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

For B

I have kissed my son a thousand times, and held him close. I will kiss his face a million more before he goes, before the days come that words cannot bridge, and the distance between us grows.

I will kiss his face a million times before he goes.

Will I always be able to bring him rest as I do now? Will I always bring him joy?

I have watched him sleeping in his bed and seen our lives before us. Must my gentle son be broken on the faults I find in him? Must my beautiful, sensitive boy be hurt by my genes making me the man who hurt me when I was a beautiful, sensitive boy?

Am I strong enough to be tender, or weak, like all those before me and all those who follow me if I am not strong enough to be as tender as I have the courage in me to be?

posted by Dr Zen @ 4:51 pm

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