The Old Place Poem by RIC BASTASA

I love the old place, we met there,
something happened, and we could
not forget it, it sticks, got stuck, and
cannot just be taken away, like a scar.
or a tattoo, a memory of two broken
hearts, mending.
an old bell in that old church, a sunset
and a kiss, a dark night, and cold wind,
warm bodies, protecting each from too
much coldness.
the music of the rain penetrated the
the loneliness of our souls.
lips closed, a life saved.