Places We Can Hide
In the trees, stoic and stolid, our bark greening,
rustling in the night winds, interlaced.
Near the water’s edge, in tall grass ensconced,
peering over the languid shoreline, immersive,
reflecting our intricate attachment.
Down the darkest alley, brooding in the dangerous
shadows, locking fingers in exquisite rebellion.
Atop the highest mountain, soaring on undulating
thermals over the deepest memory, evoking
eternal love in one of many recent pasts.
Within the city crowds, jostling with our big elbows,
steadily moving on quick feet through the
urban landslide, amorphous, indivisible.
On commuter trains, wearing our faux death masks,
hiding our cruelest secret, interminable in
its final possibility.
In a lonely room, revealing a crescent moon and
a single light bulb, concealing only the depths
to which two synchronicities can aspire.