rosepoems

Perhaps if our clocks were in sync
at a quarter past eight
and you gazed up at a cloud floating west
to find it reminded you
of a day with shallow fountains
and blindingly bright skies
old yearbooks and made-up songs
and looking past the cloud and past
the sky, would you perhaps see
centrifugal force spinning,
a constant dance holding two
together, and perhaps if I checked the time
on my wrist at a quarter past eight
but saw turned tables and opened doors
years passing, but seconds remaining still
perhaps the earth would gently tilt
and perhaps, for once, gravity
would be on our side and
in that moment of you being there
and I, being here,
perhaps we would somehow
find a way back
to each other