seed is ever present,
if all time exists at once
as we hover
in mid-air, above the circus.
And though I want
that bud to unfold
as your knock upon my door,
I know we need time
in which to act,
and we cannot measure
the length of the tightrope
you would have to cross
to reach me, again,
in this place where I live.
Your taillights receded
and the minutes rolled by.
My odometer clicked off
those twenty miles.
Loss resides in each inception.
But you know
I know
how bruises heal;
that I like the way
I am able
to walk upon the earth
as it revolves,
rotating
through sunlight
and through shadow;
and that, above all else,
I honor dialogue.
