you were a habit,
but less like binging than
like breathing --
i saw you daily as
a part-filmed spirit
reflections on a lake
i'd never been to,
let alone
been in
but after years made
out of frayed yarn
there came an apple-day when
there, from a tree in
a lost backyard
we climbed a stepladder
our heads among the fresh leaves
and you
you could not have been
more different
