Time runs uniquely to two
In circular or straightforward fashion
Like bright ribbons that stretch into the distance
Perhaps never meeting
Perhaps meeting when one is too newly dyed
Perhaps meeting when one has frayed for quieter spaces
Ah, what meaning is there to think:
If we had only met earlier or later?
The now is all that matters
The now is the miracle or the great sadness


Late Love

I, who was born to meet you
May have been given to the world too early
For I catch myself sitting on the park benches alone
On the edge as if leaving a space for you to fill
Quietly daydreaming of strolling
Through the silent places
Your breath a steady exhale
I can only do my best to live a gracious life
So I can meet you in the next
My head held high