A petite blonde gives her beau a lingering hug in the street;
she is leaving him and i can feel the bittersweetness of their parting.
An elder couple, hand-in-hand, wait to cross the avenue
that separates Acres Park from their home.
A man and his wife, push their baby in a stroller
beside sunlit grass, and wildflower meadows.
It makes my heart ache to see such beauty; to acknowledge that love
comes out of the woodwork to nail together a ship-wrecked society.
I have no desire to be them, but rather to watch them—
these lovers in the park on a Sunday afternoon—
and wonder about their lives: how they met, how they stay together,
how they work through sensitive life material.
These lovers in the park on a Sunday afternoon
stay adoringly young in each other's eyes,
trampling across my heart,
leaving tiny footstamps
like children's prints in the sand.