excited poet

Do you remember the last time my feelings were so obvious?
That time it was both of us who,
in our reluctance to part our way,
made it plain how we felt,
plainer than here my words could say.
But here and now, or minutes ago, I believe it may
have been just me who wanted to stay.
We were so blushing and foolish then;
I feel so naked again today.

I am like Moses,
who wandered in a foreign, wasted land—not forever,
but, sometimes in this blowing sand,
it seems so much another gust just blows atop another gust,
and all to ever touch the face
is frictive grit and smells of dust,
and never comes a change in light to tell the days are passing by,

until you find yourself atop the mountain and the view on high
just takes the breath and stays
             the heart
for one heavy second while the heart tries to find its
beat and both lungs heave to find the step they've lost
to the sparkling air that blew across the river
from the holy shore which, from the mountain,
seems so much another field on the same wide grounds,

and you know that it’s for someone else.

What, really, can I say?
You ask me why I look away?
Because I am like Moses,
and I cannot bear to look here anymore.