At 3 in the morning, quietly, under the covers
In the shower
On a hill with sunglasses
In a rainstorm
With legs swinging on the side of the Seine
In the sea as always
On a bike ride, pretending you’re in a movie
On a swing in the countryside
On the dock with the loons
At the movies
On a bridge, any bridge
On a meandering car ride
On the fire escape of a heavy summer night –
when everyone feels beautiful
In a loud party washroom with echoes of laughter, a beat away
On the rooftop of your first apartment
On the plane while everyone’s asleep
In a bell tower made for remembering
In a refugee tent, where hope is a thin red line
of rain collecting in a rusted pot

You have options and once you begin to see them,
you start to lose track of witnesses
Show me a person who hasn’t sobbed and I will show you a person
who hasn’t taken their deepest breath,
who hasn’t lost and found their pulse in the knick of time,
who hasn’t choked

Some people collect shirts of favorite teams,
Others, holy places that held them tight when no one else could

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