R + N 4ever

Their initials are scooped
into the curb of the
grocery’s parking lot,
the remains of a promise
collecting age,
the glances of passersby.
 
I imagine the
authors crouching
there, fat-fingering
into concrete their
receipt from having
loved,
 
not thinking of
the day when the letters
would weather into
nooks for dirt,
and the pavement would
cease to sparkle.
 
Still, how smart they were
to write it down.