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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


The boy enters where he began.
He finds himself in a hall,
and calls out a name,
and the name falls from the air
like broken glass.
He turns into a room
and sits quietly listening to waves.
Where is the shore?
Where is the sand?
The clock on a table
shines like the moon,
but the hour it shows
melts in the shadows.
As if time grew old
and ended.

Doesn’t matter.
Everything that was to happen,
and he nods.
He doesn’t know.
It makes no difference,
the door opens across from him.
Where he was born.
Where he will be born,
if someone remembers.
Unlocks the entrance.
It all happened and he is old.

Why it would happen again
he doesn’t know,
except it might.
Except it will
if he cries,
and asks for one more time
to be in love,
and start over.

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