Upon departure from a Barnes an’ Noble,
being vexed to be left both book-less and single--
for no page nor mate could cool this heart in its boil--
I beheld, beyond my moment of turmoil,
a man and a woman holding each other.

I felt an intruder
(and such as the writer).
I deconstructed the stroller--
the lovers held on

under April air.
Bringing breath to a parking space,
they, oblivious, they, tender.
Simply holding each other,
seeking shelter inside
the other’s embrace.

I shall not pry as to why
they were unmoving, entwined,
be it joy, or at worst,
a despairing good-bye.
(I wouldn’t yet know,
but isn’t love equally both?)
They still lingered, nestled,
when I hit the road.

I beg, forgive this mention.
It’s just that, you were a reminder
of what I wait for:
not to be a modern consumer,
but to be and to hold,
for we are a shelter.

People don’t stay like that anymore.