The Last Love Poem

Since Becky will be returning from Texas today, I can stop posting these love poems.  I don't want her to expect this kind of literary treatment daily.  But while she is in-route, I'll offer up one final romantic poem.  This is one of the hundreds of sonnets I've written and is slated to be published in a California literary journal in the fall/winter and I hope I won't spoil the fun by "publishing" it here first.  I like it.  Apparently the editor did, too (thanks, Tim).

Once again, a happy 50th birthday to my wife, Becky . . . she's been driving around Texas by herself this week celebrating a half century.  (You'll note . . . without me!)  Perhaps this sonnet can speak to the connection and the mystery of love vs. location.

Where in the World We Meet

Somewhere on this measured continent

Perhaps our eyes met on a carousel:

Our rendezvous' improbable percent

Since solitudes run often parallel.

Seduced by fate, we may have spoken once,

Or nodded in the grace of gratitude,

Or glimpsed each other for some weeks or months

Before life beat us down in latitude

And broke our fall on some remoter world

Where people do not meet by happenstance

Or other possibilities unfurled.

But in this time and place circumferenced

By love, we beat life's probability.

Star-crossed, perhaps, or just geography.