It’s been a while since I’ve written, and
days have spun to months have spun
to almost years like golden thread that
shimmers, disappearing when it catches
the light, so you’re not certain
it was even there at all–
and yet, maybe that’s just the fear
that it was all
a dream
that one day I’ll wake up and there will be
no
warm breathing body beside me
a hand sprawled close to my pillow
still eyelashes breathing peace
no
curled furry breathing joy
paws, cold nose
tucked by our feet
taking up entirely too much space
wonderful. wondrous.
mine.
how strange it is, how bittersweet
to have a life so good
you’re scared it will melt like
clay off a riverbank
like the sweetest nightdream.
and yet, the moments . . .
a note by the door, a new
record of our favorite song that
blared from the speakers on
our honeymoon, windows down, Maine
pines flashing in the air so close
I can smell their sticky richness, blending
with the sharp salt of the wild, flailing sea –
now, dancing with our dog in the
warm yellows of the living room
paws in hands, dinner on the couch
as we listen to the clear tones
gasping into a laugh as we hear
the echoes behind the melody we
could never hear before in the record’s
crisp resonance.
this–this. how could this not
be real,
forever?
I once thought the same
many times before
and now it’s all
faded.
but maybe
maybe
I’ve endured enough
maybe,
maybe
this unspoken promise
in the way you look at me
all shining love and green mischief
in the way her heartbeat thuds
under fur beneath my hand–
maybe this
can be
true.