good news: thursday, march 9th

the good news is

after a morning spent muzzling

tears in the sloping kitchenette

face to the red brick

i still want

to take the ferry

all the way to lower manhattan

and stumble upon the sublime

grey mise-en-scene

x-marks-the-spot

this-must-be-the-place

of our first days,

say hello to the origin story:

84 williams street

and the stairwell there

the oldest park in town,

the pub that almost burned down

seven years ago but didn’t quite give up

the ghost

the seaport

and the memorial for irish hunger,

the bench on the battery

where you kissed me for the first time at sunrise.

i want to hop the fences

to our holy sites

just like we did in the dark morning hours

right after i got off the plane and dropped my bags

in my new town, in my new home

just after i extended my hand in the stairwell

and said my name out loud

and then heard yours for the first time.

i still want

to arrive there with the blackest pen

and write on every mooring,

on the cold statuary,

on the third step from the bottom

small but permanent

“i fell in love here”.