Boston

I mourned you in this city.

Walking circles over the bricks of Faneuil,
Tucked into a park bench in the Commons,
Softly shaded under the Salem willows.
The tears stung my eyes before I knew why.

And with them came a realization,
Carried within the chill of the harbor breeze,
That I may only know you in letters on screen,
Through recounted fantasies and poetry.

Yet under the low-hanging Hunter’s Moon,
Surrounded by brilliant and glittering lights,
On the edge of the skyline at Prudential,
A smile graced the edges of my lips.

If I’ve gotten all that you can spare,
I will carry these pieces tenderly.
For you’ve marked me like a scar:
Deep, profound, and beautiful all the same.