cafes may bear witness to hope renewing

strawberry cream tea 

and this old, damp balcony

rin and i at twenty four

watching the city lights

turn off, one hill at a time

small cities do not change much. 

rin's ladybird hung in the air

like wind chimes, ceramic,

winds of change having so much to say

and leaves us pondering.

how did we survive all those years?

and why was love so painful?

shifting in my seat

camping gear, makeshift table

rin wearing butter yellow

though seeping red

and my disposition growing

heavier

with every memory dissected

the smell of my old twin bed

lingers.

witnesses may laugh

for our lives are now

so very different

and yet, somehow,

all the very same.

rin takes the forefront 

in all the painful liminal spaces,

and she saves me when i find myself

in the same terrible darkness.

let us trust in what has happened

we say

there is not much else we can do

clarity is in the psalms we once rejected

and in the psalms that then saved you

and what is God if all He does is answer

in riches to every prayer

for when we were at our poorest

we had this very lonely world

and then we had each other.