All the poems I've ever written

have started in my mind with "and", as if I am

penning or telling the words of a story

not all the way thought out, and I am

telling it to a reluctant audience who

would sooner leave than listen.

And in this story, my words come

to speak of love at the fireside

and in my mind they are heard and adored

and loved and seen with the same eyes

that adore the shine of sun and fireflies

and the soot-blackened cheeks of the listener

blush furiously at the idea of leaving

a lover made of words and paper and love

and flying and hope and poems and songs

and I know I will never stop telling this story.