But Not Quite

But Not Quite

A little walk, perhaps,

The warm evening air,

A half moon punctuates

Our dim cobbled path.

Away from the city’s

Hardened rhythms,

The sad, handsome houses,

Trees darkly wave,

Stars blink encouragement.

Deep in the salt marsh,

The breeze volunteering,

Ravens circle, lazily,

The stony surface sending

Their melancholy cries.

Finally, she takes my hand,

Says, “On nights like this,

It is almost enough.”

Almost.