Three thousand miles away you fall
five times in two weeks, can’t get up,
barely haul yourself out of a chair.
You’re terrorized by an edge
of carpet, pebbles in the driveway.
I thought nothing but geography
would ever come between us. But now
you wander a singular wilderness. And I
want to divine a map, slog overland,
hack a trail, deliver you out of twisted
old growth and treacherous swamp.
Daylight hangs in precarious balance
as heavy clouds close against sun.
You like to say that when we met
my face shone like the moon, but I can’t
give you even reflected light, can only
wait here, strike match after match,
trying to burn through all that dark.