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We lay quietly one evening beneath the stars, struggling in an effort
To find their own place in that infinite black canvas.
She turned her head and from the security of her blanket asked
Do you hate the world for what it is? Or what it's going to be?

I responded with Neither.

And twisted my face into a smile,
as if to make her think she'd asked the right thing.
She twisted hers into a smile too,
as if to affirm that I'd given her the right answer.

In the later hours, we rowed down some swatch of river runway
Cradled between a few mountains and a few cities.
She asked
Do you row to keep up with me? Or to keep yourself from drowning?

I told her Both
And let go of the oars to see what strange thing might happen.

Only the stars could really see what occurred then, in Earth's emptiness, but ignored it;
Too busy finding a way to keep from touching one another, I guess -
Selfish nebulas.





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