(About a 1 minute read)
By thirty-six her heart
Was all rough spots and dark patches
From too many friends
Who turned out less
Than kind angels
And who had scraped in their passing
Her spirit too hard.
I met her one morning
Where they serve hard coffee.
Her life’s sole luxury
Was drinking a cup
With chocolate and cream.
I said, “Do you have
The time measured in minutes,
In hours, and in the lives that you’ve bled?
For I am but a traveler
On a journey of decades
And I’ve long ago forgotten
Where I’ve been and where I’m going
But I know that I’m here,
And that I’m not here to stay.”
She said, “I see you are like me
And I see that I am a rose
Fragrantly blooming in a desert of stones.
But you know I’ve been thirsting for water
And the freshwater-carrier who comes —
Bring up a chair, if you are that man
Who can love with rare passion
Both the sweet flower and its thorns.”
Before the next morning
Had burned into day,
We became friends.
We never looked back
At the miles and the lies that we passed:
We’d become fellow travelers by day,
We’d become found partners by night.
Our love never strayed
And only ever burned higher.
Nothing could kill it —
There are no troubles
Can crush fire.