Dane

© 2006 by Will Holcomb

The paths through the heart
are twisted and torn.
Ways are cleared slowly
and covered in a moment of carelessness.
No one travels here with understanding;
to love is to be lost.

It surprises me to find myself here
where the touch of your hand draws me
as much as the press of your body.
I'd thought myself beyond this:
too battered and world-weary
for these dreams of children and fools.
My dabblings in romance have become
things planned in the head
and played out quite a bit lower.

But there's no queen's pawn to K7 here.
No check. No mate. No control.
I turn to you with all the thought
of a flower to the sun.

Though we live far from the real world
this is no fairy tale.
I'm no prince and you no maiden fair.
Here, love is conquered
by past hurts, future plans, distance,
and time ever short.
Here, love struck, as often as not,
doesn't make for love striking.
Here, the need for a touch of home
can change a person.

These things I know.
These things I accept.
I'd sooner set myself against the tides
as try to change your heart.