where you stand
An entire life dedicated
to a makeshift heart
to holding the idea of this love still.
And hold, it did, through storms of fallen debris
from the mighty gods of wind and wrath above,
through long, cold winters of barren fields
and cynics, through the incorrigible heat
of summers run wild; lustful and lost.
When, one day, the image of Hope Remembered arrives
on a city block corner at seven p.m.
and the all of everything becomes manifest,
Red threads that tie you to me
in just one look.
It was a Wednesday.