On a distant yellow-cast day—
bathed in the soft-colored glow
that defines both joy and ease—
when the sky stretches taut,
so it’s like looking up
from the inside, at the arcing blue glass
of a hand-blown bulb.
On that day—and that day will come—
this mad gob of suffering and confusion
will be separate from us by leagues,
placed far over even those hunchbacked hills
that grow near the horizon.
Measured by the tape of time,
the now will be forever ago.
On that day, I will love you.
I will love you as I do now,
and always have.
I will love you in that moment,
as in all moments.
Be there with me,
on that day?