Each whisper
in a fading wind
brings the stars closer,
closes the scars
that were never there.
Wade to me in puddles
from imagined tears.
Winter never warmed you,
when it disillusioned us.
Long arms carry you through
storied storms, as I close the pages
with the grasp for a life,
curving in the rivers.
You are drawn in elegance,
with beauty to your fear,
among your years
sadness had its pull.
I can believe love will tighten
its rope, bind this link, forever
with all beating hearts
that missed their mark.
Modern Romanticism 