Return to me.
Casually.
As spring returns to winter every year
and in his cold embrace deposits thawning seeds
transforming darkness into light, with grace.
Return to me.
Poetically.
As if my arms your absence never felt
my light stays on at night for you to see
the window open to facilitate your breathing
my sheets your ever-calling exploratory sea.
Return to me.
Irrationally.
As if this world were not senteced to die
as if the years before us were lined with pregnant promises
as if our children could still plough and seed this blesséd earth.
Return to me.
Just this.
As if our lives would last forever -or
as if my dying breath were yours -and
up in heaven
all at once
the light you nourish in your womb
could give this world a chance.
