This approach
bow to sternum
deep seeing
the way it used to be.
but a pull tug, song sung,
a zip cord knowing and
absolute.
i’ve driven miles
through yawns underpassing
a sadness - a measly quake.
grief - a fork
tearing down the wrong way.
what of want? what of stillness?
As we see, we dream
and then blind, we squirm towards
any light
allergic to before, sequencing our thinking
past romance, past longing, past the past until
it all ends
in grace, in the quilted weaving of
a togetherness
that fought every storm, sagging.
that shunned every demand, damning.
we are underwater
floating to the surface,
gazing and breathing
finally breathing.