The bus tires rumbled, jerked under us like abrupt waves
and lulled you to sleep,
with your headache
nesting on my thin shoulder.

Above closed eyes,
your brows held the hint of a frown where your head hurt,
a tiny fray on the edge of a flower petal,
which I tried to smooth out by humming a melody…
It struggled for survival amidst the sputters of the engine
and creaks of the metal frame,
but found form in vibrations through my body
and traveled into your sleeping head.
Thus, my darling, we silently shared a sacred memory –

Remember the unwavering voices resurrecting a prayer
in the ghostly form of that same melody, undulating
like the intense beatings of a heart, that swells to fill the arched hollows of a stoney cathedral.
Remember how the tears surged, upwards through my soul and materialized
in the presence of God, trembling uncontrollably,
under harmonic waves of echoes crashing against century-old stones.

Remember the distant land of beauty that we traversed –
blink and you’ll miss
the flashes of Alpine snow upon rolling evergreens,
glimpses down winding cobblestone streets,
churches on every corner,
the chilly morning mist teasing your nostrils…

From the pattern of a carpet in a hotel elevator
to the blinding white statues of saints,
every bit of our memory there is laced with notes from that melody,
and your constant sweet presence.
They have rooted themselves
as a fountain of sentimentality in my heart, erupting
in my driest, most cynical, and most desperate moments.

I wiped my clouded eyes, stroked your head, and turned to answer a voice hollering about the election.
Outside the window, a sun-bleached flatland of trees and convenience stores
rolled by.