Where We Live
Where we live, soft moments
and hardened hands are
as brick and mortar. Living
together, as easy as a dream,
but as real as wet soil between
bare toes.
Every day the gentle
and anxious hearts
of lovers held close
form defiant battlements
against doubt and bitterness.
Where we live they are as
foreign as guilt and
fear of death.
The furrowed brow before the flame.
The nights lent to shaping strangers.
Where we live, there are no
dark days. Like the tree's bark
or a lake bed, love lives rough
and supple around here.
I know, because where I live,
my friends have shown me.
My friends - married
before memory. Together after dust.
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