Where the World is Ours

Come, walk with me.
Past the fences. Past the people.
Past the far point
to a wilderness where no one has the patience
or time
to go.

Come, walk with me. Hand in hand,
past the persistence of people,
their needs and hurt and anger,
past their noise,
past the far point where,
just for a while,
the world is ours.

About this poem.

Yes, it’s a love poem. You probably figured that out. The picture was taken at Race Point on Cape Cod.

Tom