Constance Marie

September 17, 2012 1:07 pm EDT

Embers dwindled as the night grew old 
Matt added one more log, then another
She slept peacefully in the down-filled bag three feet away
Connie, Constance Marie, his angel
His one true love

Sleep evaded his harried soul
Threatening dreams, he refused to abide
A sky full of stars, stared, haunted, lit the site
The full moon taunted as sleeplessness won

The hike had been tough, Matt's muscles proclaimed
Seven miles, four hours, three thousand vertical feet
To reach a peak, the journey, the way
He begged for the silence, an ending dismay

Connie stirred, drew Matt from his thoughts
Reminders of memories, sought, lived, wrought

The smell of the tide, on a warm Lewes beach
The tires' crunch on gravel, at their lakefront retreat
Too-sweet cotton candy from a weekend carnival
The rush of the wind, a smile on his face and hers
A tandem bike, a WaveRunner, two scooters
Rented moments, remembered
Life together, thoughts separated, waves arriving, leaving

He'd promised, vowed, entrusted true love
But his thoughts, imperfect, impervious, wandered
Of what value is he, devoid of his word, he wondered
Little, he thought, very little

Three hours passed in a cruel trick of time
Three more logs, he added to the fire
Three promises, he made to himself
To be true, to be honest, to be real

An owl spoke, three times
"Hoot, hoot, hoot" 
As night gave up to the sun's rise
Matt heard, in his heart's mind, wisdom from the owl
He heard three lines:

Perfection means little to imperfect souls
The cure, the solution, is simple and true
Humbly, softly, authentically, you

He looked at Connie, his Constance Marie
And knew then, the time had come

He carved, from a branch
A ring
And as she woke

Type: Poetry

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