Conceive of two corollaries peaking to paradox,
one uphill, one down,
this way to wisdom, that way to desire,
level at the apex, quiet and still
Conceive of the park where you and I meet,
of the days we circle the dial
Conceive of two reasons for never meeting again,
both valid, both lies,
of two seasons so bitter our memories keeping howling
If you could have said what you wanted to say,
if I could have done what I wanted to do,
that morning, that midnight
Think again of both extremes and choose
how you could have moved without gravity’s grip
if no one had given you directions,
and you, so young, so willing
If I could free fall to the beginning,
if you didn’t need to foresee the end,
I might undress you so hungrily
your stockings would tear,
you might phone to pant, “I need you,”
and I would come
If we could say what shouldn’t be said,
do what shouldn’t be done,
you might turn from a sunrise,
I would recast my downhill stride,
not afterthought, not whimsy
Imagine more choices than two,
imagine no need to choose,
desire pushing downhill
straining flesh to a howl,
wisdom sitting us down to dream
If you didn’t have to choose;
if I decided to stop,
if we stopped short of the pinnacle,
walked jokingly over its crest,
you might reconsider, I might relent
If running uphill leads to fortitude and strength,
running downhill may have no purpose at all,
except exhilaration, except the joy of flight