Placeholders

        the sharp ring of a phone,

         the soft steps of the retreating mailman,

or the wail of a child; maybe a siren.

It's the thin ice, the cartoon anvil, the speeding bus.

                                                                                 We all come here, baptized in tears; dark and alone.

That's life.

That's not life.

The moments, the moments of love.

When you wake to a hand lightly touching.

When the coffee is perfect, the cotton robe, deep and warm.

The kiss, all reassurance and promise.

The moments we harvest, lovingly hoard -

     fireflies in a jar.

                                                                                             Beautiful.

Each a place,  

You take with you. 

Everywhere.

Even in the dark place where

It's too much.

Especially there.