Poem for Her Twentieth Birthday

Passing the memories, from her last to sharp birthday

the year the quick focus of faces I do remember... .

I have seen her face with a thousand countenances, and a face

that was but a single countenance as if held in a mould.

I have seen a face whose sheen I could look through to the

ugliness beneath, and a face whose sheen I had lifted to see

how beautiful it was and it will.

I have seen an old face much lined with nothing, and a smooth

face in which all things were graven.

I know all her faces because I look through the fabric that

weaves, and behold the reality beneath her.

I have seen a face enduring her own ail and forgiving her own

fails.

A face stronger than the last, responsible than her past and

disciplined with cast . . .

Even all the tall trees and high stars stalking like deliberate

giants for her birthday, and all the hot adolescent memories
seen through a screen of faces . . .

For her birthday thrust into the adult and actual:

expected to perform the action, not to ponder
the reality beyond the fact . . .

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Vortex Pen

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