I want to write a love poem.
Where the waves crash by the thousands.
Where flocks fly in blizzards above us.
I want to gather words like
beautiful stones, hard and enduring.
Stones that collect the ages in themselves
and whisper their secrets back to us.
I want to see the small, shy yellow
of shore daisies, bold cactus,
and the trailing vines that resemble
the paths that lead away
to everything and nothing.
And finally I want to catch you
on the sand between the water
and the dunes, and say this is where we live.
This is as long as our lives will last,
and neither horizon, in front of us
or in back, will be where we go.
Here, in the center of huge arms around us,
we will live and remain, always children,
full of fun and love.
And the world will belong to us
as much as day and night.
And we will rise as stars in the darkness,
and suns in the day,
and our love poems will be read
by the thousands,
and erased by the tide,
filling the ocean with distances
that grow in us.