When Patti and Robert met

they slept covered by a blanket of stars.

Art did get them,

and in the end

they let anyone who wasn’t them

sing the song of their innocence.

Flowers and birds,

hunger and passion,

gifts and symbols:

a black bow for Baudelaire,

glass beads for Rimbaud,

a poem song for Janis,

a career for Jimi,

the paying of respects for Jim,

a modest necklace from Persia.

So many others decided

what would happen to them.

Star lovers, they needed

a constellation to shine.

Yet their fate was written

in the New York City sky,

the day they met.

There are other love stories

like this one but not everyone

ever  learns to truly love and keep

the distance that makes

the bond.

They did.

The light of that blue star

reaches us, the heart of youth

beating today

in memory and silver,

paper and black and white.

Flowers: windows

snapshots of who we are, still,

moving.