Love in the Fog

My love and I have been floating for a a few months.

Not in the dreamy, newlywed way,

but rather, in the suspended, circling the airport, waiting to land, kind of floating.

We're in the fog, antsy, uncomfortable.

Yet here we remain sitting next to each other close enough to touch

with hands in our laps.

Waiting for the clear to land, waiting for a voice to say it's safe and our turn.

What if the safety never comes?

Will we run out of fuel and plummet, stomachs lifting before a quick end on solid ground?

Will we turn around and fly to better weather and clearer runways?

Either way, whether it's crashing and burning, or landing and moving on,

I think I need to reach out and take your hand,

hold it tightly and remain.

***

For it's your hand, love

that I've vowed to hold in light and dark.

It's your hand that's patient, kind, knowing, gentle, strong.

It's your hand I want to hold when we find our footing again

and run, run, run out of the fog

grounded and facing the bright blue of

love everlasting.