I would love, my dear, a happy ending – though maybe it is not
forty years from now, in the hospital wing,
after the intubations, and before the forms are signed.
An author, after all, takes a cleaver to the whole of time,
and fashions an edge that glitters with real happiness.
And so tonight, let’s raise the good glasses,
snuggle under the covers, and we’ll let the author
put the ending where She will.