Modern Romanticism

Walk a thin line,
trusting those who
know you, during better
or worse moments,
devising an idea
from collected matter -
the residue of the last.

We hold out hope,
lit as a reused candle,
extinguishing when
our arms get tired.

What a weight, it is,
to keep this boat moving
towards what was believed
to be the final island.

Bringing together
all those who know
these burdens,
this water that heads
down from watching eyes,
from bent fingers.

Who loves, and who walks
with the one who will
march with the parade
that celebrates another second?
Another moment counted,
like our mouths gulping air
before the tides enter.