IN BETWEEN HERE AND NOT HERE
If you were to die before me
I would find a piece of real estate
in between heaven and earth
where I’d build a little shelter
like the ones hikers use on long mountain trails.
There, we could spend nights together
and, if you were so inclined
I’d let you cradle my new-born sadness.
Out of the storm of my grief
You would tell me stories
about why I shouldn’t be in a hurry to follow
and feed me with knowing words
that it’s all OK. All divine.
That you left with everything you came for, and more.
With coffee-flavored kisses
you would thank me for the sweetness I gave to your life
and I’d make you stay until the dawn was certain, until night
had poured out the last of its darkness.
When I awoke again
the smell of you on our sheets would confirm
that it wasn’t just a dream.
That you were waiting for us in the shelter I built
in between here
and not here.