What If You See Me? {a poem}

How interesting...

I do not grow
frustrated with the crows
for cawing the same caw
all day, every day,
nor do I roll my eyes
at the trees as green
gives way to gold and red.

I do not poo-poo
the first hard frost – you again! –
or spit at the moon
when it hitches
over the horizon.

And yet, and yet,
when I miss the mark –
an errant comment,
a clumsy delivery,
a lack of attention that lands
sharply in the heart
of a beloved –

I wince in the mirror,
impatient, intolerant
of this repetition, this repetition,
nothing beautiful
or natural
about it.

And then I think of You,
the only true judge,
and my self-judgment
loosens if only a little.
What if – maybe – you see me
and I am the crow,
the leaves,
the snowfall, the moon
itself growing full, then empty,
then full again?