in our own singular way
beautiful and deformed
out here on our own say-so
and not sweating but struggling
though we can barely scrape
after thirty years together
the surface of one another
if the first million years of love
are spent digging the trenches
hunching in the bunkers
heavy artillery falling and
missing falling and hitting
maybe the second million
will have earned a brief peace
and clarity so long reclusive
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