by Ethel Mortenson Davis
It looks to me as though
you’ve been around, perhaps,
since time began—
and I have lived at least
as long.
Oh? Only that much time?
I’m sure there was no life
before for you or me.
How could I know your face
so well?
As well as some old rock
I’ve seen hang, clinging
to a mountain wall,
and I know what wave of brightness,
or of darkness, to expect there
waiting for me.
You step and make some rounded move.
I know beforehand which way to go.
How could I know? Unless. . .
You’ve been around, perhaps,
since time began.
I know I’ve lived at least as long.
fourwindowspress 
Nice, Ethel. I love those two shifts into italics. Each in its own way makes the reader pause a moment and think.
Beautiful 🙂 Perhaps since time began…
Superbly crafted poem. One might even say well-rounded. A kind of linguistic lapidary.
Lovely, Ethel … the last verse gave me shivers. I so understand. Beautiful writing, as always. XO ♥
Quite different from most of what I have read of yours, Ethel. Yet equally enjoyable.