We are always running
These streets holding us
As we hold hands
Your hand in mine,
We are running
We are running,
Not following anyone
Not following anything
We are unique
We are pioneers heading west
Not chased but willingly chasing the sunset
Where the horizon and the sky meet with a seamless kiss
We are hoping that they aren‘t the only things that love
each other so much they can be together without
leaving a mark
Not tearing or wounding or cutting or finding any cracks
and fault lines, perfectly matched
One falling into the sea
One rising into the clouds
And on and on and on forever
Dripping off the edge of the known world
Who can know our world
Who could have chased us this far
We are alone in the wild
This rushing and running
Running from the streetlights falling away far behind us
Our hands tight like a taut rope from our shipwrecks
We are pulling one another from the depths
Neither an anchor
But both anchored together
Sinking
Sailing
Storming seas of sidewalk puddles and pavement bleeding
together
No edges
No seams
No feet
No legs
No bodies
All running heart first shoulders back, eyes closed
Winds whirling around us
Running not following
Holding not falling
Chasing and ending somewhere in that kiss of sky and sea
Finally finding rest
Wrapped in a peaceful footstep folded-up asphalt blanket of
each other‘s peace and preface
The only unstitched and perfect seam is the horizon that
God wakes up and puts to bed where we find our
heads were tucked in
But our hearts weren‘t allowed to end
(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2012
A poem from my book, "Oh, Sleepur!" published last year, about falling in love with my wife, not once, but over and over and over again, until we're one.