Because it could have been the Flood. I often awaken
     that surprised. Harder to believe it all happened
          slowly. Better 7 days, the Almighty

with a flip-chart: ... and here's your ass, and here's
     your avocado. Then the two of them, happy
          at last, the proto-empty-nesters. And now

with my head in your lap, your hair against the Heisenberg
     light, I wonder if I'm why you've gone gray, but you
          assure me that men aren't that observant: Ham on deck

and the unicorns treading water off port, QED.
     We agree there's no point in galaxies & stars
          so large, no destiny, no Night Picnic.

That nematodes follow a trail of pheromones, but
     we're in love. We agree about everything
          except the Paradox of the Twins - I say

they're dancing in separate rooms,
     forgetting to write but you say - no,
          one grows older with longing.

First Appeared in Barrow Street.