Poems by Rose

Be Safe.
 
We learned each other shore by shore,
through tides that turned, then turned again;
too close to leave, too far for more,
too strange for lover, kin, or friend.
 
We drift, we dock, we disappear,
then find the same familiar sea;
you pull away, then pull me near,
as though the tide remembers me.
 
We have said I love you, too—
but never twice with equal weight;
the words wear different shades of blue,
then deepen, dull, or detonate.
 
Sometimes they mean, I know your scars.
Sometimes, I trust what you conceal.
Sometimes, despite the miles and dark,
you are one place that still feels real.
 
Sometimes, perhaps, they mean, What if?
Then duty draws you far from me;
you know I need a love that lives
close enough to simply be.
 
And damn you—
 
there was love in that.
 
Not love that begged,
or bound,
or burned—
 
but love that knew when not to grasp,
and knew when wanting must be turned.
 
So back we went to shifting seas:
some days like blood, some days like flame;
a touch can tilt what friendship means,
then leave us looking for a name.
 
Because friend is far too frail a frame,
and lover leans too hard toward claim;
almost makes absence sound like blame,
as though we lost some waiting game.
 
But maybe nothing failed at all.
 
Maybe some love is built to move—
to rise, retreat, return, recall,
and never need a name to prove.
 
You are not mine.
 
I am not yours.
 
Still—
 
if your light vanished from the black,
some compass in me would lose north;
some part of me would call you back,
some part would scan the darkened course.
 
So yes—
 
we say I love you.
 
And every time,
it means a different thing.
 
But there are two words I give you
that never change with tide or spring:
 
Be safe.
 
No tide can turn the truth of that.
No silence stills that steady plea.
 
It means:
 
come back.
 
Not back to me—
I make no claim.
 
Just back beneath the breathing sky,
back somewhere I can say your name.
 
Because I love you may mean fire,
or friendship, blood, or something blurred;
but be safe asks one thing of you—
 
exist.
 
Somewhere beyond my sight.
 
Whatever we are—
whatever we become—
 
I need the world
to still have you.