when I walk this route without you it’s surprising I enjoy it
’cause I stumble over technique and lower my performance,
so maybe it’s the step itself and not the larger measure that
produces pleasure for me, not the X’s on the treasure map,
the ground-residing toadstool and dandelion pom-poms
thump like little drummers from the peat beneath the palm fronds,
a riff that still exists for me even though your arm’s gone,
I left without my watch and didn’t even tie my tennis shoes, forgot to fill my water up and didn’t do my stretches,
but the reckless sense of order feels correct if not infectious,
and I’ll testify perceptions – seem to tell me that I wasn’t crazy – beauty seems to be a breeze the trees discover daily,
and there’s comfort in the way we all exist with one another
so we still connect directly even when I miss my lover
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