Modern Romanticism

I’ve been tracking
your heartbeats,
your skips
over your preferred
path to flip
your agency
into secrecy.

It’s nothing but ash
that you’re scattering
to avoid a soft breath,
to go deaf
to an accurate guess.

I’ve built a tower
at your road,
the tunnel’s end,
holding a great hearth
of light in an evening.

You’ve been challenging
a kind of candor
of open expression
to a love that shouts
in the wind.

It will anchor you
in its supply
of stones.

It will center you,
pulling you out
of drowning.