If songs could capture
the wonder of your smile, glowing
like a coastal sunset, all peaches and pinks,
I would not write them.
My love cannot fly to you on gusts of melody.
It huffs along prosaic tracks,
heaving clumsily and out of breath,
gasping to tell you–
No music could lift something so substantial
to an appropriate height.
So let it stay anchored,
solid like your hand wrapped in mine,
a fleshy mitten for the coming winter.
If you can find happiness while earthbound,
I promise we will dance across the ballroom
of our lives, the years sweeping
behind us in an elegant arc,
your laughter in my ears
the only sonata
I will ever need.
Be sure to also check out ‘The Coach’, another oldie added to the ‘Works’ page in the Journalism section.