In the movies, the new lovers would circle the city, arms roping
around each other's backs, their stride perfectly even, the tempo
of their conversation lilting like a song, and the audience, hoping
for their own sweet story, would lean from their seats as the glow
of evening descended. Time would stand still when the kiss
finally came, the swish of trees serenading, and even the hot dog vendor
belting from the sidewalk would stop to watch, and be healed. But this
isn't how it works, the heart intemperate as early spring, bruised and tender
from all the tumult it sustains. Still, the reel plays and we swim in their desire,
fused by want and lit by fire.
by Maya Stein
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This poem was reprinted with kind permission from Maya Stein
who has been writing these kinds of feasts for the senses each week...
a series she calls, 10-line Tuesday...
I thank her for this inspiration...for how she focuses each point she makes as if on the head of a pin.
Please do read more from this collection over here...
and her blog, one paragraph at a time, is about just that...
"looking at life one paragraph at a time."
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Photo credit: Embers, by Jason Bolonski on Flickr
remixed under the Creative Commons license