He wrestled with - you cannot be sure.
The thoughts curved round their objects.
He looked at the miles ahead,
Nothing happened to the sun and yet hours went by,
Slipping past their young baby like an embarrassed salesman.
They rented themselves a car,
and drove halfway in the afternoon to the waterfall.
Obstacles, snares, tests, nothing.
He had lived in exile, with shells of old ideas attached to him like barnacles.
She seemed to have life wrapped close to her, like an elegant glove.
When she said she wanted something, he realized,
It was because she really did.
The sun wouldn't move an inch.
and the miles behind,
and knew again envy.
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