The First Day

by CWK 

Sunday is the first day of the week.

I will never forget the first way you looked that First Day:

with the first touch of love: like later Spring roses,

(with deeper red) -- and you wore your hair with care,
slightly different than I had ever seen it; I know this
because I have studied all your little lovely habits:
until now, from afar, like an astronomer a star.

That day, I tried, many times, not to stare, but when I dared,

I spied your feet: like angels feet they repeated

a message of glad greetings. How beautiful the feet

on the floor of the banquet hall when a man

cannot raise his gaze to the blue skies which are your eyes.
That day, I exhaled, and looked away: my heart too full
of things too good to yet believe.

That was the day of the first look, which I took,

discreetly, like a man who esteems his dreams

too grand for the reach of his frail and fearful hands.

The first day, also, of your first look (with new eyes)

toward the man across the room who confounded

expectations with affections, hopes, and declarations.

This was the time, the first time, we caught each other

catching each other’s glances, like shy dancers

trying to find the rhythm with the time. In time

we will. For, I will: I will take gracious chances;

and we will take long glances, slow dances,

and long walks, and live, hereafter, lives of laughter.
Well begun: half done; this was a glorious first chapter.

And I promise you that the chapter after

is sublimer than the movie version, by far.

When we write it, you will see, I told the truth.

And we will see the Novelist turning pages new,

then we will smile, and write each line together.
It is a grand story already, and it only gets better.