Modern Romanticism

I know this danger.
Loose, endless, and simple
in its message,
though reminding you
of all that never was
in your palms,
like fallen petals.

I realize where the snow falls
on each tress of your hair,
brought back to set up
your eyes, to see the sunrise,
but you’ll be looking back,
soon enough,
not soon enough.

You’ll be drawing curtains
over illumination.
You’ll be bringing yourself back
to those tides,
letting go of the rain
caught in your whirling eyes.

You’ll be remembering
all those figures passing by,
as you’ll be treasuring
the dark, in its depiction,
stamped like a letter
that defeats you, depletes you,

but given to your hands
to remember you,

to remind you,
that you were more
than what you see towards
all closed doors.