Had You Had Time

Maybe you would have worn your good shoes.
At least taken a shower,
put on some clean underwear;
but who thinks of such things on a Saturday morning.

Maybe you would have done one more load of laundry,
washed the dishes,
fed the birds
(though they are birds; God will feed them).

Perhaps stayed for another cup of coffee,
one more piece of rye with that blackberry jam you like,
sat quietly with your weariness
until it collapsed like the moon into morning,

or realized that you didn't need a thing;
there was plenty of milk, enough eggs,
ample bread to last just one more day.
One more day;

you might have remembered
how we are fragile, like deer
that leap fearlessly across black and pitch
believing they are one of us.
And it is always terrible.

You might have whispered "goodbye"
and kissed me, as each cold turn of your face in years past
Suddenly caught fire.
And I might have saved you.