First, you took me
to the Canadian embassy,
tucked between the
bustling streets of
Washington, D.C.
It appeared to be
a concrete dome
of little note,
a lackluster vault
beside architecturally
staggering museums
and Romanesque buildings.
“Trust me,
it’ll be worth it.”
You said, and so
I trusted you
implicitly.
We climbed the set
of winding steps
and came to the
dome-shaded landing.
Here, the bustling
city thrum fell
distant, dreamy,
dampened.
“Say something,”
you whispered
into the still.
“Something!”
I spoke,
and the word rang out—
full, rebounding
off gray walls
as if I’d shouted
into a great cavern.
For the next half hour,
we bellowed, sang,
and laughed in that
pocket of warped
sound and space.
That began our litany
of journeys to
faraway places,
where the cacophony
of life
could disappear
entirely.
Next, you took me
to a state of
pine sway and everdim—
where we slept in a loft
and got thoroughly lost
in warmth and
yuletide elation.
After this, a day’s drive
to watch the moon
embrace the sun—
a moment of totality,
dusk-drenched and alone—
just the two of us
in a forest, feeling
more at home
than ever before.
Then to the desert,
where, in the dead
of distant night,
ancient stars
seared overhead—
that Milky Way a sight
we’d not soon forget.
And finally,
to that place where
ice and flowers meet—
where, dawn-streaked,
you asked me
to take your hand
in everything.
And there,
where the din
of city hum
was mere memory—
I said yes,
implicitly.
pm poetry 