If I could I would take you
under the limbs of trees
and tell you. I would take
your hands in both of mine,
below the sticks and hills
where moss clings
to the curve of rocks. Part of us
would not fail. As light
moves through the sun through water. Though water
is carefree. Waves crash. From those,
the last drop of misty morning, contains
enough life to populate a world. The world
shivers – listen to it. Your voice
is a stream spilling into the sea, or nighttime
rushing into a black-lit sky. Like coming home alone,
the house is cold. Who is there but someone, you once knew
and were not expecting
but were hoping to see again. And you can have wine
and cake left from the party.
In the most unexpected places,
you wait. Within a few years
we won't remember the pact: to confess
nothing, not to lean
over the edge of formation.