The Delay

a young man
holds a single rose
behind his back
    and stands –
watching the travelers disembark.

he fidgets
with the flowered stem;
his fingers press
    the thorns;
waiting to sight the one he loves.

walk by him, then few
alone are left.
his heart is pierced with double pain.

. . . later that
evening, unaware,
she holds his hands;
    the wounds
of worried doubt now warm with care.

faith’s tender skin heals
against his heart;
much of love’s uncertain certainties.

 – Jerry Dan Deutschendorf