it would be a thing

to once again love

with the sureness of youth

or perhaps, like Rumi

to hold constant the thought of a love 

that is always within 

so that when found without 

is already known

age and disappointment

eyes more open 

to the world

less open 

to the inscrutable

have lined up the ridges in my spine

so I do not so easily

lean

toward that warm engulfing place

of home

to soften these towering walls of rock

to let them dissolve into mist

then clearness

so that finally we could see one another

with openness and clarity

to taste the air

in a space

uncluttered by fears

pasts

the litter of unsaid words

discarded dreams

what music would we hear then in the softness between us?

or would there be only the sound of our breathing together