Laying on a dock with
our hands above our heads.
Wrapped together like
paper covering paper
covering rock.

Two hearts and
four lungs keeping time.
All of the love
pumping through
our necks.
We might not be
here again. Again.

We’ve been too
angry. Too
composed. Too
worried. Too
responsible.
We’ll be calm from
now on.
Until it’s gone.
Until we can’t be.
Until we won’t be.
But that won’t come
for a while.
Maybe even a while
longer.

Do you hear the
herons around the
bend of the lake?