Slow Dancer

Across the water, a baby boy is born. I sat crying on my couch, washed over with relief, with wonder. My how the day grows long when all you can do is wait. 

You were the first person I wanted to tell. I don't know what that means. I guess it is what it is. I spent the evening tracing bloodlines in his features, considering miracles and counting years into the future. How children become our best bet for immortality. How nothing reminds us more that we are mortal. 

Spring forces its way into the concrete streets, the frozen hearts, of the city without apology. This year seems more beautiful than the last, but perhaps it's just your mind playing tricks on you. There's a new puppy on Morton Street. April blows the dust from lives around you, clears the cobwebs. You think maybe it's time you came clean, too. 

May always makes you run. Maybe you should let it.