A poem about accepting ourselves
If you were here, I wonder what you'd make
of the funny thoughts that whirl and dip
like tired tops in my drooping eyes.
Would you see the silhouettes of two
adjacent elms for what they are,
continents swaying apart, together and apart?
Again, there's no proof one way or the other,
no single winner's name awaiting in a
crisp white envelope for truth's final tear.
Just me, stubbly chin in my hand, and you
somewhere else, standing, feet together,
your arms spread wide, smiling in the darkness.