Above is better, but beside is believable

But even now I know your thoughts

aren’t always with me. And I know

because it’s ok. Even in this climb,

this plumb to the source of love isn’t always

true. Yet you know it still has meaning,

hanging there. It is still our most solid solution.

The wandering body, the babbling

soul goes ever after. Nettle kept,

thistle hatched, baby you are my baby

until I lose my eyes. Until I catch a

hunk of metal. Until I bend and wrench

and rend. And then you will let go.

There is dirt under my nails, and it is not

beautiful. That saying so might even

pretend to be revelatory is because

we’ve backtracked. But each rounded

pass is yet anew, even highways poured

with traffic, then somehow with pebbles.

Only, that our spread is not so even

is what makes for our unease. That

there is distance between being in love

and loving. That, though there might

not be such things as second chances,

there’s sometimes want in life for two.