Across a field

Across fields of careful thought Woven by our inability And by our uncertain anxiety. I care not to wade through, Breaking the gentle grasses That wave to the wind of our silence. But careful must I be, For I see your torch across the grass, And it is burned into my eyes, My mind; I see its flickering in my sleep. And slowly, as I both grow familiar With my much-distanced spot, And also with your faint torch-fire, On days my faith fades; On other days my patience erodes. Someday, I will tire of stalling upon my well-worn spot of dirt on this side of the field. And perhaps, I will come wading through these grasses to greet your light. On that final, uncertain night, Will you extinguish your fire And disappear into the dark? Or will I meet you halfway, Among the waving grasses, Our torch-lights brighter together?