She used to say I moved
too slowly toward change.

Maybe that was a fear
of love I was too selfish

to follow, a fear of a new
bravery, a yielding

I wouldn't accept. An opened
door I neither ignored

nor entered--at least not
when she was ready,

which was always too 
early for me. And with every

door, with every late step
I took, I thought, 

I could've been this
happy years ago.