There was a time you frolicked in the cloudy field,
Held up by a long, hot glance of the sky, aquamarine and elegant,
Neither wet nor dry, but both, as heaven is.
There was a time you had a vast and graceful musculature,
More horse than human, like the vast tree of childhood
That spends all of your life getting cut down,
But remains in your mind in a gold engraving of fire.
There was a time you were not him or her.
In divine gratitude, you were created
Because that’s why you were born:  so that your talents
Could be also, to join the talents of others.
You were not bitter or lost. You did not drink.  You were not afraid.
And when you opened your hand, you marveled at its fortune.
Did I say it was not the hand you have now?
How the angel hand was radiance?
Remember?  How your talents were to be developed in accordance
With grace?  How when you looked in a mirror
It was not just your face?