The Reconstructed

most of the time there’s too much perspective for just one photograph

like the contour of your ridge that leads to a bridge that knows of the perils of love

it’s worth it to be overwhelmed by the decision to wade in waves and surging waters to rest on your shore, sure of catching the breath, lost when less sure of seeing your soft hands while underneath the double hydrogen to your oil-less oxygen.

like scaling a mountain under the weight of a river that erupts with fire, the unified elements of impossibility will fail against your word, your tones, your color and sound and stature, you the adorned adventurer

the life you coalesce in the events that lack laborious activity, it is in this way you invite the light emotions with your simper and giggle, a vitality that removes the seriousness of the story.

Thank you for the memory of a free heart

which has returned and has made a home

that still hold the images like a tender hug

warming and silencing the one that you have

the one you can call solely your own

the one whose thousand words did not push you away but discomforted your individuality enough to consider for a moment an eternal covenant that could not possibly be captured in the stillness of these which can be seen, yet illicit the feeling of those cherished times

and yet after all the drama and diction you told me in the most gentle consoling way, “Love, I prefer the pictures to your poetry.”

and with that one weight gone, you gave your kiss.