Certain loves move this way, entire lives
sharing only this admission in the end:
I do not know you anymore. And yet. Will you?
––a refrain and its penance, demanded.
It varies. Who is addressed.
Maybe this is the crux of our want.
To be challenged, then absolved.
We went out looking for the animals,
but the animals had gone. They ran
from their names. We had to admit.
That it was possible we had the wrong
names.
