To love and be loved,  is equal to holding the keys to Heaven on Earth

There's a song
that forces my memory back
to a train in Chicago.
I watched through the window
the trees passing.

Two days.
The warmth of your body
and the warmth of the fire
indiscernibly bound.
Embraced as we were.
Woven as our hearts were
in the Winter, just west
of Chicago.

The two of us, suspended,
stunned but not questioning,
our ability to feel
the absolute brilliance of things.

silence
three quarters up
an excuse to leave behind
what i felt is worth
leaving this silence to forget itself
to forget that i ever
once wanted a smooth path
bricks lain out to find patterns
in the cracks