To Convalesce Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The day may be flaxen,
My face may be ashen,
I may have counted more troubles
Than money, or faces
Or opportunities and second glances,
Oh, how I lost everything in your departure
As if, you took, with your cold, nimble hands
All the time, and the time suppressed in the future
The nights may be flat and filled with sparrows,
The twilights may be terse and stark with fluid waxes,
I may be stuck inside my room, folding – unfolding the sheets,
Counting the days, and fretting against the walls,
But all of this will end,
And the harsh tides will bend
My way, where we will all feel comfort,
I keep this in mind, as I reason with laconic hopes –
Soon, my hopes will stretch as far as the transatlantic
Oh, transatlanticism, soon, I will be yours,
Like currents, or waves, I will pull everything together
But then, the fragments are scattered,
And it would take more than physics,
More than religion to restore
Restoration may be far-fetched
But then, planets slip into orbits,
And there is a place where all the tides meet,
There, I will convalesce
I will convalesce.