Modern Romanticism

Space that surrounds
our feet, upright in where
we exist on these grounds,
bleeding to raise what
little we can nurture.

Life has been left
to be cared for,
in our trembling hands.
What will we be holding
should love become
a washed off stain?

You are here,
smothering this world
with a future's scent.
I am residing close
to places we've hurled
to unknown infinity.

I am facing what
we will live for,
gathering blessings for
these stretching roots,

a wilderness,
not a ghost.