a walk we could have taken

somewhere out there, my son is looking for me.

i hope my child is happy,

and not just in the time before he's five,

but an eternal happiness

that knows no bottom.

to be put in my little wooden box

knowing that whatever tears

my eternally bleeding heart shed

were the last to flow

from this blood line.

yesterday, as i took her hand

the touch of an unborn life

pulsing through some time

not so far away that it can't be imagined.

the would be names

we bounce off each other

like a dime store rubber ball.

you pick a couple

out of my bushell

we just as quickly forget them

so the game's always fresh.

would there be some magic mirror

that those future eyes

finally filled with knowledge and wisdon

could look upon me now

as flawed and mortal as i am.

alas, the improbability of transversing

the chasm between child and parent.

the great tragedy of ignorance

between tree and fruit

the sun and moon

god and man.

Reviews

[Victoria Magana]

As I am reading this Vance, it occurs to me that this is one of the first poems of yours that seems very deep and heartfelt. Don't get me wrong I am not trying to be rude at all. I am only surprised at the fact that this isn't dark or morbid. So a few lines are, but over all, this is a great piece. And I have to ask myself as I read this, 'Is any of this...something he has experienced?' Most times, I pray that what you write about in your poems HAS NOT happened to you....but with this one, it seems like it has to have been real for you to feel the way your poem has reflected that you do. Over all, this was a very good read Vance.