Red Thread

When I was with you Even the letters scribbled with unripe affection were scripture

Because precious things have no lifespan Every moment we called each other summer and winter Became the subject of youth And remained as a season

How red is the thread Hanging from our fingertips That we share our lives so dearly In my twenty-ninth year, I even rubbed my palm lines As if searching for the place where it was tied

Do you believe in immutability On nights when we fall asleep with our sentences That mimic eternity propped behind our backs What rises to the surface will surely be love