It took me so long to realize that not everything
that was built to bend has also been built
to break, that the best things withstand
the tests we flesh out in our minds, that
there is patience and kindness and gentleness,
light, wafting down from the ceiling
if I can only remember to look up, so
from now on when my voice hits that icy note 
you know all too well, remind me to step 
outside of my sullen and sour, zip my jacket up 
to hide the threat of a frown and keep walking
until I turn the corner and see a lamp post,
a vending machine, a diner buzzing at 3 AM,
 a bus stop, a waiting car, your face etched
with worry, relief. I am probably still going 
to forget sometimes. Sorry about that—you know 
how hard I try. But at least my limbs will always
have it in them to reach out to where you are,
and you will never have to go too far
to find the warmth I’ve been saving for you.