This

Woody Wisz || Fall 2020

under an early moon back home the
owls weep together to remind me that
there is still time.

at night asleep I saw that we could run and
run and not stop, not for a long time. I dreamed
that we ran into wakefulness and when
my eyes opened I was still running,
running for the love of another and
asking all the while
what knowing looked like and when
I would be there with you,
acrylic under the pines
brittle alone and already deliberate.

this is what I will remember:
softly bringing myself to bear on the roof
before night.

this and more but this,
this.

this, also:
me and her and mother all statuary in
the cul-de-sac saying to one another
in forgiveness that
there is still love. when you are far and when
you are near there is still love.
when the International Space Station streaks
overhead I don’t have to hear it to know
somewhere there are people loving each other
even among the stars.
there is love there is love there is still love.

this and more but this,
This.