Two as one, a thousand to one
Taking chances, making plans,
Feeling ourselves fall apart.

Wooden toys, doll eyes, dog toys,
Refreshments for the shade,
Prism for the sun to analyze her rainbow proclivities,
Her taste in men.

Dead men mostly buried with the women,
The wealthy and the poor
Buried like stones become earth and
Pressed for time.

Eternal flower, pressing lips,
Pressing us to the shore,
Through the door where the waters weigh
And the moon is in uproar,
Rising, pulling up the tide.

By Rolf Stavig
12/23/2023