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Rendezvous with Hope
by David Matthews

Just write it.
Go to the damn desk and write it.
It won't be Shakespeare.
It won't be Keats.
It just may be verse
The color of red wine
At a table by the window
Where light pours through
Softened by the setting of the sun,
The young couple at the table one over
In the sweetness of their mutual enchantment,
The brightness of your face
When you speak
Of next week's drive to Montana
To pick up the new puppy,
When we speak of Keats,
Matthew Arnold, Pete's dad,
Some movies I have seen,
Some books you read,
Dylan and Highway 61,
How it runs north
Through the iron ore range
Of your Minnesota homeland,
Threads of conversation
That tie the world of us together,
There in the soft light
Of the setting sun
Beneath paintings that remind me
Of Jim Darlington
Where they hang
On the restaurant wall
Like baskets of garlic
And threads of conversation
Hang in the air
And tie together this world of us
Where we are bound to find
What happiness there is for us to know.






 

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