The courtyard had just sprout out of winter 

And blossomed

Tree branches lunged for the floor

And their white flowers sprung for the inch

That they could not,

Two lovers sit on plastic, 

Like so many before,

And talk of a road,

Of self discovery, 

Of veins and grandeur;

Words that paint a depiction of anywhere else but here

Their mouths – a black hole

Their eyes – sewn shut by time

A mid-west wind slaps and stings like whiskey

The roof of the courtyard shakes its snow loose,

A new dawn lights upon them, 

As they dance in this fruitful rain,

Eyes unfolding, mouth & mind quieting

It is not this pocket,

Of this state,

In this country;

It is them,

Who are tired,

Who have continued to sculpt stagnant creatures,

Every road they’ll take will always spearhead them back here,

And at this very moment, in this silent second, that’s fair

Because beauty is infinite.