I hope morning is only a suggestion.
I hope we linger in bed to memorize
Spring spilling warm sky outside,
a collage of our lives as rose-lit. 

I hope you kiss my neck after coffee.
I hope your mouth lands on some reminder,
that we sigh and sing a thousand renditions
of what it meant to be unbroken.

I hope winds carry boats across the harbor.
I hope we can peer inside sealed buildings
on our drive through the bends in the city
and the dark tunnels muffle your grief.

I hope time massages you with prayer.
I hope our children fuss and scrape knees
so you soothe them with your quiet hands,
and we all forget the dead.

I hope you at least let me hold your hand.
I hope your fingers unclench just long enough
to forgive mine for being slightly cold,
and you remember how to warm them.

***

Photo by Ave Calvar on Unsplash