Memories Travel Without the Weight of Time

I'm five: lying in bed in the attic room I share
With big brother (though 4 years older, he won't
Climb the creaky stairs at night unless I go first—
His fear of the dark gives me a secret thrill).
Before leaving for sleepland, I like to watch
The shadows flickering across the ceiling, a kind
Of magic made by the reflected headlights
Of the cars passing in the street 3 stories below.

At seventeen I'm making out with my first girl
On the plush sofa in her house while her mom
Sleeps upstairs. We are both virgins, both clothed
And naïve. Suddenly, as I lay her down, I come—
My first orgasm as, strangely, I had never jerked off
(a mystery I still cannot fathom), but oh, wondrous
It was to leave my body and step briefly into heaven.

First came the girls, then the women, in droves,
For I was tall and fair and good with words, but most
Of all, I could make them laugh. And I loved them all,
in my way, and I could love none of them—for I was
afraid of the binding, the fastness that love demands.
It hollowed me out, this fear, and I could not see the
Utter blackness it led me to—and pain beyond pain.

At 24 I was reborn that moment I wept for the loves,
And love I had lost. I was not a new man, nor a good man,
But I was a beginning man, my soul taking baby steps
Towards God and the glorious love infused Universe.

In my 32nd year I stood in the nave of the little Anglo-
Saxon church, waiting as my bride came down the aisle.
She began crying, I began smiling—my happiest day.
Now 44 years later, it is still my happiest day…