where two watch and wait
What can be done with rationalizations
once removed from the box and christened.
Two walk by the grace of the same fate
at which I wring my arms and squint my eyes.
The labor and moaning of jest
is missing in the morning. I scheme
the empty crevice, the steel and glass,
the Ferris wheel height to reach your window.
I know what the limits of gravity are.
I know where my hand ends — at the reach of gravity.
