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.