Promise

October 18, 2015

Promise

It builds slowly, one hardly notices.
Like walking in the forest,
the ground underfoot sometimes softens,
the groundwater seeping up.
Soon one finds a spring,
a small place rife with fecundity,
or a trickle of water from a pile of stone.

Nobody suspected a softened emotion
not from me, serene and calm,
pacing through life untouched
alone.

They didn’t feel the moisture,
dampening the forest floor,
loosening the resolutions I made
when I was still in pain and certain.

They can’t breathe in the softness
the way I can when I feel your gaze
on me, asking me,
telling me,
demanding.

They had no way to see the hope
springing verdant
at the idea of you.

And then when at last your fear
and mine became weak against
our desire,
at last
we change
and all we are
all we can become
is heat
and fire,
taste and touch
and sweat-slick
ravishment.

How odd the world doesn’t change
when all inside me feels alive.

How is it the world is different now,
so welcoming
and alive with
the promise of more?

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