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<title>frederickmorgan.com: poems: Poems for Paula</title>
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<span class="title">Poems for Paula</span>, 1995<p>
<a href="pub_poemsforpaula.html">Click here</a> to learn more about this book and how to purchase it.<p>
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<strong>The Breathing Space</strong><p>I saw my dear one on the street<br>walking home with clothes in her arms—<br>clothes from the cleaners. She rippled along<br>past where the school was being built<p>on the next block. I called out to her,<br>shouting "Paula!" from my window:<br>shouted twice, three times. A black<br>construction worker grinned at me<p>from the unfinished rooftop. Paula<br>halted, turned and glanced about—<br>then, as I called her name once more,<br>looked up and smiled and cried "I'm coming!"<p>Earlier that sharp Autumn day<br>we had phoned the small-town hospital<br>where an old brave friend lay slowly dying:<br>her voice slipped ghostlike down the wires . . .<p>It all gives way to death in the end—<br>this shifting show of shapes that pass:<br>that much comes clear as time moves on<br>and pains outmatch the early joy.<p>It all gives way in dreams that fade—<br>and what remains? a whiff, a trace,<br>some pale residuum of a life<br>changed now to dust and memory?<p>That's why I'm grateful for those times<br>when time itself comes to a stop<br>on some quite ordinary day,<br>comes to a stop for a random moment<p>in which the self gains breathing space<br>to find itself outside of time—<br>as I've been found, who still hold fast<br>that pause made radiant by her smile.<p>
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