It’s been said that a line can be straight,

or a street, but the human heart

is curved like a road through mountains.

If that’s the case I hope a row of goats

are walking over me on my way to you,

otherwise wouldn’t that journey be lonely?

And that same person said

when so many are lonely as seem to be lonely,

it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone.

If it’s also been said that time

is the longest distance between two places,

does that mean our bodies have been three years apart,

which is greater than the thousands of miles of sea between us,

but you’re as real to me as the ground I’m walking on

and the trains I ride to work and back?

And if in memory,

everything happens to music,

what would have been playing as you drank a small beer

with your bare feet on the carpet of a pub floor?

Two new fish in a vast ocean swimming side by side,

sniffing out a new continent. I have no idea.

The violets in the mountains have broken through the rocks.

I don’t know how they did it,

but I’m happy for them,

for gentle things to be victorious

even in the name of destruction.

If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels.