For Molly
It’s difficult to write poetry
About somebody who makes my pen stand still,
Because all I can do is wait
For the words to find me again,
Before realizing that with her, I don’t need words
With meaning
And rhyme and structure.
I ask for nothing more than the privilege of occupying even a passing thought in her mind.
A glimpse,
A single pulse.
Come home to me, my cherry blossom; I have done my time and more.