Temporary Poem by John W. McEwers

The sign says walk
but I am forcefully frozen
two blocks downtown
from your golden
windblown hair.

The little green lights
form that man who is always
moving forward, always
making progress somewhere,
when I am stunted,
stagnate by decree.

I once thought of our love
as I would a mountain.
Boastful and permanent,
ominous as the horizon darkens
and its foundation, so wide and strong
cuddles, seamless, with the night sky.

Beauty does not last, I know,
or rather it is not expected to,
and though my heart willed it
we were only as temporary
and mortal
as a spring snow.

A gentleman in a Volvo
sees me standing at the corner
and motions me forward,
I can't accept his kindness
because of you.

You're chatting outside a shop
with some young man
who is not me, who is less
restrained than I am
and less temporary
than we were.

And I've been told by many folks
that there are other loves out there,
fish on the flower,
petals in the sea,
but curse my eyes!
because you are just as lovely
from at least 100 yards away
at all times
to me.