fears

there is the fear of waking up in the middle

of the night and not knowing what to do

and also the fear of never being able

to fall asleep again

there is the fear that life turns suddenly still

and one looks behind not knowing where

the past has gone and how it was lived, and by whom

there is also the fear

of failed encounters, even (or especially so) those

one has long dreamt of

there is the fear that the phone will ring

to let one know the child is sick again

and also the fear that the stranger one passes by 

suddenly turns around and the last thing one sees

is the silver flash of an unexplainable knife

(or, for variation, the fear of a temple blow leaving one

lying there calmly and almost gracefully, accomplished, 

as one has never been able to, 

while alive) 

there is the fear that the other has already departed, or will

soon leave, without notice

the fear that this body will never again know lust

or

it will be too frail to contain

that last overwhelming wave of desire

there are so many fears

and yet

above all these fears

there rises the soft gleam of the birch 

when spring is almost 

here.