The slow march of time, a saraband;
The dancing of hills and highways --
Us, carving our initials
Into the changing earth,
Finding some meaning
In just building,
Leaving there
A love
Note

those few things that she does not treasure
have no weight under all these stars
burning up wishes nightly
within that velvet heart
that will not be stayed
by circumstance
nor hectored
nor brought
down

to understand the unknowable
may be where empathy begins;
knowing what we do not know
gives us space to let go
of those certainties
yet unproven
we carry
always
still

impossibly beautiful stranger,
improbably wonderful friend —
though the days grow terrible,
we sit in silences
born of other ways:
with still some hope,
longingly,
into
light

exploring roads of irrelevance:
places that the years have bypassed,
lives unknowable to me,
ideals still visible
in paint and shadow
and touches that
were placed there
out of
love

She sees the things I ought to have seen.

But maybe it is not too late

For me to know and do right.

Integrity and truth

Are worth the effort

And worth the time,

As is she,

As is

Love