Here

Here is love and
here is madness and

here is the fine line
in between
as we grow old, apart [on
a vicious timeline, onetwo
fifteen years?].


Here is a day and
here another and

here are fifteen calenders,
thrown away [that
puts me five thousand,
four hundred,
seventy-eight days
south of true love].


Here is one mile and
here is another and

as each passes, I
live a bit more
quietly [but
no one has listened for
fifteen calenders,
thrown away].