The bits of ugliness that dot our ways
Sometimes connect us to the ones we love;
Through each new clime and season, every phase,
They’re there nearby: around, along, above —
Unsightliness is something we accept
To know we’ll be connected, in the end,
For love’s the thing. The rest is simply kept
Because it joins us to our kin, or friend.
And soon, we do not even see the poles
Or lines that crisscross everyplace we go;
But hold connections to our very souls
The voices of the ones we love, and know —
But though all this connecting is ad rem,
It can’t bring them to us, or us to them.