Stubborn Arms

“What foolish, romantic notions”—
they looked down and smiled
and for years, I nodded my head,
chuckled agreeably,
while my heart folded stubborn arms
and waited

and then, you simply appeared
as if all those crazy songs and poems are true
between dances in a summer courtyard
in that swirl of lights and sounds
you whispered, and that whisper
haunted me
were you everything I wished for
or everything I feared?

life is more dangerous than ever now
like cliffwalkers we tread
the exhilarating line between
the familiar past and uncertain future
a predictable safety and possible destruction—
self-possession and abandonment
we grasp each other in the stinging sea air
and somehow find a sort of sense to everything:
a continuation of things begun long ago
a finish, finally, for all those things
that seemed unending
an answer for each
infernally merciless question
a reason for each mystifying “why?”

I rummage through backs of drawers,
forgotten corners, dusty boxes
and find treasures I collected unknowingly
accumulated unconsciously toward
some future fulfillment
for which I dared not hope
I look through all the cards I bought
in this shop, on that street,
just in case—if God willed it so—
someday—perhaps—
by some miracle—
there would be someone
to send them to

so I send this card
and my heart in its lines
to its resting place

and if you are my one
and if you are not
my heart unfolds its stubborn arms at last
to enfold you