This is not what was expected,

cascade of words scored by self-will,

hand ups, two-sided like a knife,

snapping silence that throws

a lasso about two hearts,

and despite hope’s desire

a distant warning that marks

a deeper shift in climate.

How to reconcile when before mutual care

remade all things, when now one leaves

with slight backward glance, and

the other allows a firestorm

to erupt inside a starless night,

tears to flood into a dark, unforgiving rain.

And as night grinds into reluctance of day

exhaustion weights four tentative arms:

how can reaching feel this little,

too frayed with muted fears;

how can so human a love

map out with precision and wisdom

the necessary, saving way?