A Poem by Jon Silvestri

February 10th

A good poem doesn't need to rhyme.
It writes itself quietly and easily
Like the present tense of place, time
And immediacy, for each word allows

The truth, because time is how
We balance the halves and
Have nots of love. It is the now
That the past begs to understand

And hold in the way I touch your hand
With a slip of the fingers as we 
Walk in the rainwet street, like sand
In an hourglass writing itself anew

Just like this poem writes itself, blue
Upon green, earth and sky
And your smile breathes itself to
Me in the restaurant, in the bar,

In the ice cream parlor. I am yours,
That cannot be denied, for each
Of my rough edges contours
Around you, easing into smoothness.

There is nowhere you cannot find me.