The Things We Carry; The Things We Need

Right now it is 2:00 am and I am awake in bed, staring at the ceiling with glossy eyes

as if my mirrored pupils could teach the blue sky above the Atlantic something about reflection.

On the other side of the world, along the Seine River, there is a place in France where people go

to promise those they love that they will never stop loving them.

This is all that they need.
There, it is 8:00 am, and couples are just waking to see rays of sunlight

threading needlepoint holes through their curtained windows.

Outside stands the bridge of Pont de l'Archeveche,

whose time stained frame is lined with with padlocks and augmented with the eternal love of thousands.
Like tiny love letters to the Earth, people fling their keys into the river below them;

with fury in their fingers, they toss away every possibility of heartache or loss.

Sometimes, the oceans can make places like this seem so far away-
but I remind myself that the distance between continents could never compare

to the distance that you have put between yourself and the people who love you.

I tell myself that you are still somewhere on this map;

a red thumbtack, a different time zone and a lock and a key away.

Every day I hope that you have not forgotten me.

You are all that I need.

They say that you only remember people in the ages you meet them,

but when the memory of me blooms before your arthritic eyes,
I hope that you still see me with the familiarity of a perennial flower.

You are all that I need.

One day you will realize that you will not find God or salvation
in a dark brick building built by dead men,
the same way that you will not find me in any number of hotel lobbies or airport gift shops.

But until that day comes, I will continue to hope that the postcards I send are reaching the right address,

and that our lock on the Seine is withstanding time more relentlessly than we did.

This is all that I need.