Maybe

If you had gotten down on your knee
that Spring, in the soft soil under the dogwoods
that snowed sweet smell and soft petals all around us,
if you had taken my hand and gently kissed it,
I would have gotten on my knees too, and said yes, yes.

If you came here now and kneeled beside my desk –
you wouldn’t, since you blew out that forest of candles,
but if you did – I would tell you to stand up,
and I would tell you to carry me back to that Spring,
and when you knelt down and kissed my hand,
I would, through my tears, say maybe, my Love.