“Get up,” you insisted.
“There's a Diem to be Carpe'd.”
Your eyes glittered through
your hair, like the garden:
overgrown, forgotten,
pillow flattened and
beautiful.
You stomped out,
determinedly imploring
Why not?

I didn't mind;

Still, it was after, to the
vacant house I whispered,
Go where you please

see things I haven't seen;
wring Apathy's neck and take the
supporting hand Courage offers
as you taste the world
and its Seven Wonders;

I don't mind.

Get in late and dog-tired,
Grass stains
on the bottoms of your feet.
Tell me how Freedom feels:
like sand sifted through
your fingers;

I don't mind.

Because I've seen the Eighth Wonder
as the bed shakes
from your laughter,
telling stories made of smoke.
I will always remember the
way we are
now.