For Love Alone

Just when I thought there wasn’t time
enough for another lover by my side, I had
this great idea: call it the impossibility of the draw,
if you will. The seduction meant living as lovers live,
within the infinite moment, unfolding accordingly.

The most difficult part lay sprawling ahead.
My whole world, from riding the train one-handed
to acing questionnaires and dialing broken pay phones,
would be executed with an added dimension: a sixth sense
now conjured to aid in my assessment of the lyrics and
people around me. I would no longer pin the butterfly
to study its wings or rebuff the unknown status quo
for following the great agent of monopoly.

Instead, I thought I’d stumble amongst things
practicing my imminent enlightenment,
preparing the world for the arrival of a being teetering
on divine intervention, a woman on horseback able to conquer
England or extract plutonium straight from the earth.
The closer I live to her manifestation, the smoother it becomes
to discern her from the crowd just as a stranger peers
from a window, eyes squinting across the parade, beyond
the batons gleaming in the sun, into the convertible
her high school sweetheart waves from.