Alice Miller
Saving
Saving
Any time there is a window, or a winter, or a news
report strung out to minute-by-minute;
Any time there is a letter, a philosopher, a question of
travel through time or Texas; any time there’s a claim
we can learn to stretch our minds across the greys of this
precise universe
which itself slouches in an infinite series
of likewise or elsewise universes;
Any time someone reaches down to pick up a copy
of the New Yorker, and it is March 2008, and this
gesture changes their whole-life-plan because of a poem
by W.S. Merwin which says (among
other things) that all flowers are a form of water
and the whole world’s burning;
Whenever our hands touch like swords
and we bow, either because we want
to obey the rules of combat
or because it might help to save our necks;
Whenever the blue hour;
Whenever fathers wait for children
to arrive on a plane
when even the 24 hour news cycle
has had to admit the story is over
with the wreck fished out
and no survivors;
Whenever I promise but send you nothing
what I am failing to say
is that some of the moments we cling to most
are the futures we never let happen.
