The Destination

In this year I have chosen
to be fully alive
where the moons turn
like pages of a book
toward the ending of my myth,
I want to put my ear
to the center of your chest,
kiss you exactly above your heart,
and set my ear back at that place,
listening like a woman
waiting to hop a midnight train,
feeling the vibrations
that will explain
how I could squander
the brown and black of your eyes
as if they were blue
or even emerald green.

When the snow comes,
and it won’t be very long—
we will build the city
in which I can love you
without the tall walls and heavy doors
of deception.
There is glass and light
as the train pulls into the station
and the conductor calls out our names,
punches our tickets
and proclaims
with a wink and whispers,
“The journey is the destination.”