The Middle

sucked the air in and held on tight
clenched my fists and closed my eyes
covered by the sound, leaning into the noise
you are the paint that never meets the canvas
the splash of color that smears the wall and stains the floor
covering up and down, stretching over night and day
a bright yellow or a quiet blue
you are a pleasant surprise
your simplistic repetition a thin disguise
day-in, day-out the same
and though the years collect like pennies to a jar
your presence still remains
kiss my forehead, child, and I will do as lovers do
I will speak as mothers say
soothing fevered ills away
though I refuse you with my words,
don't trust me to be truthful
you see, I'm a rotten liar in all my
hand-wringing and my downcast glancing
I could never stare you in the eyes
even in my best of sense,
I'd never see their truest color
or their brightest shine
never know the detailed twist of your smile
only hints of sideward glances
glimpses, glass slivers and crystal fragments
but I will keep you close, my friend,
swept up by the wind and carried away
never too far gone, never so far lost in my travels
to retrace where my feet met the earth
to get back to you, dearest one,
I will come to you, in all my dirt and dust,
from all my fame and glory... wherever
my toyboat takes me, I will find you when you call
just as I am, to meet you in the middle.