Enter Hope

There is no hope
but there are nights, and trees, 
and narrow streets.
There are two people whispering 
while everyone else sleeps.
There are shadows, odd flowers,

and thorns we have no choice 
but to handle with care.
There are newborns to teach us 
how to hold fragile things
after we’ve cradled 
countless guns.

There are moments when everything 
is the subject of our love—
balconies free of people 
and full of plants.
There are windows behind which we’ll always wonder 
who lingers
and novels that conjure sympathy 
even for those we hate.

There are sailors,
women below a grapevine 
laughing for no reason, 
and there is no hope.
But there are hills
we’ve known all our lives 
before which
we’ll always feel like strangers.

There is no hope, 
but there are borders
we can always imagine crossing. 
There are rivers,
and there is language, 
though we might never know
how to make it say what we want.

There are people in city squares holding banners, 
chanting for the freedom of strangers.
There is a great love, 
and a small love.

There is no hope—
there is a thick fog 
spreading now
over a remote village at the mountain’s peak, 
and there are old men
who visit the same spot every day 
to watch the sun sink.