Fine things
are memory and fantasy,
or are they
places that we dwell
rent-free
with only those who are invited,
and the
ignorant are banned.
I see you
beneath a maypole
bare flesh
melded to one of those you love,
the size of
things don’t matter for
in fantasy,
there are no rules
I see her beneath
the hemlock
with her
great surrendered love
two worlds
so different in reality
mean nothing
in a dream
those who
have passed through this realm
to whatever
lies beyond
I see alive
and well and happy
walking unseen at
our side
and him I
see in a perfect photograph
composed to
keep him safe
held in
tender, loving kindness, protected from
the full
intensity that has baffled stronger men
these hearts
that are so capable
of many
loves at once
are both
beautiful and dangerous
and what
truly makes us we.
