On Beginnings

I like beginnings,
beginnings of books and movies,
of life stages and relationships.
There is nothing so final and concrete
about beginnings.
In the beginning,
everything is new,
a great unknown we try
to understand with excitement
and fear.
But endings,
endings are filled with too
much pain and often regret.
At least one can remain
temporarily ignorant in the
beginning.
That is what I miss the most,
not knowing how it ends.

I Know Not

I know not the countless hours I have waited to hear you speak my name,

to hear your voice dance through my eardrums, once again,

pirouetting its way to my heart.

I know not the number of days I have counted on my nimble fingers,

anxiously waiting and wondering when I might be graced with your encouraging presence,

with your superior divinity.

I know less of many subjects, but of you,

I know well enough.

I know the curve of your jaw,

the touch of lips,

the glint in your eyes,

and the love in your heart,

but I know not where you are.