Saint Christopher,
I think I loved you:
I was just too young to know.

You overflowed and
Flooded damaged days
With something palpable
I did not wish to name.

I fell down laughing
Time and time again
And felt my tired eyes
Well up with sleep
At last.

I followed you, a little brother's distance,
Watched you go where I could not,
Wake up after dark and leave the room,
Step out alone into the starry night.

Somehow you were not threatened
Or offended
By my deep unwieldy
Reservoir of pain,
The needle and the rush of solitude
(That maybe somehow, sort of kept me sane).

You subdued the darkness
With a reckless light
And told me your wild secret
Late one night.
(I asked myself, Did I already know?)

It suited you and when you leapt
Away into his arms,
I let you go.

. . .

copyright 2001, Linford Detweiler