The Circle

 I have kissed a man as a boy
and a boy as a man,
and some I have known,
and some have known me;
and this is as it happens
and as it must be
for all men regardless
of complexion or relation,
and is in the natural
circle of things that
mark the seconds
and the minutes
and the hours that
we claim in friendship
and in love.
One boy I kissed
but seconds old,
his wailing cry foretold
a strident life.
But I – this boy apart
from all the others –
as shepherd of his heart
would lead and give
as long as he might follow,
and as long as he might live,
my pledge of love
and more to keep withal.
Some errant tears that day
upon his florid flesh did fall,
conjoined with his,
a solemn weeping father
christening his son,
our salty family testament.
And my regret
three decades lost
and more the absent cost
of life’s appointed hour,
the tears that drop,
that will not stop this day,
will not anoint
his forehead or his need,
the solemn seed of
deathless love to kiss,
my moistened pleading prayer.