You were always there but never here.
Those first few days, weeks, years,
geometric circles never intersected
more than fragmented small talk.

The stars, as they say, aligned, and
Providential time, it is proved, is perfect.

Somewhere along the years, seeds fell.
The soil was right, a plant rose,
and miracle grow has been raining ever since.

Late night drives, discovering roads and fields,
stars and constellations providing the backlight
to the scene of the hour. Mysterious thoughts,
hopes, dreams. Joy.

We stood at the edge of a canyon
and talked about nothing.
That nothing was everything,
we realized, as we saw the depth
and saw how shallow life’s worries were.
So why fret?

Chocolate melted in our hands,
our mouths too busy talking and laughing,
loving life and wanting to live it full and well.

Now miles, an uncounted measure
of those yellow dashes in the road, the same ones
that brought us together, separate.

But the stars, they say, guide,
and Providence hasn’t declared this finished.


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