Like any tended furnace, my Hope glows:
it casts no fearful shadows on the wall,
but iron doubt to molten metal flows
to be recast by my best dreams recalled.
Like any flexing muscle, my Hope moves
between this fragile flesh and sturdy bone.
I make my efforts, and they wear a groove
that wit retains, and conscience quite condones.
Like free and tendered love, my Hope is bound
to seek its like in fealty and in force.
and when a true companion may be found,
hopeful, hand-in-hand, we set a course.
My flimsy span across the chasm slopes,
but does not buckle – fortified by Hope.