The debate is over.
Where are the roots of
reality? What magic do they
draw upward into the
sensible muchness
of feathers and pines and the
scent of
autumn in your hair?
Nothing but what we see
and say aloud,
make believe, “Let there
be…”
With a thought and a word
we created
a life together, you and
I.
Another set you free to
name yourself,
to be a self, not a wholly
owned subsidiary.
I believed you would keep
watch while
I dreamed, and you have.
You do.
Every night ash buries the
cities we build,
and every morning we sweep
them clean again
with another yes.
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