…there is remorse
it comes in waves that can be jumped
if the timing is good.
There is something else,
a kind of combat
against the relentless advance
of loose threads in the tapestry.
That man who stumbled into my path,
tripped by a loose thread, or thrown by a seizure,
we locked hands and eyes in the grand mal way.
I saw something, maybe. He saw something definitely.
Said so through hard, tired lips
as I wiped the spit from his chin.
My instinctive weakness to reach out
caught me by surprise,
breaking the vow to remain detached
made when I kissed the bride for last time.
The molecules of that encounter fell into the wind,
scattered, in the precise pattern that gravity maintains,
as if drawn by a cartographer, or cubist
-and so we are moved
by remorse, combat, gravity,
by seizures, weakness, and vows.