You adapt, I do
not upgrade.
the conjoin
of parallels
linked up, so
to say, by You
and I - like wheels -
and yet
you bend back
while I'm stuck yet
At every crossing
we are abreast,
Bearing upon
Our tired backs
The load men call
Loving! Loving!! What
loving? Tomorrow
if the sun lingered
A bit in the night
For you either or I,
all these conjectures
and all the precious findings
and profundities
Will scatter amidst
the inane and
after the briefest break
Fog will link with fog.
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