I do not know the names of trees and plants
that grow in bright array where once you walked,
nor can I guess with certainty the fate
of each generic bird, beetle or beast
that crossed your path. If the significance
of numbers is more than superstition,
then the steps you took count for more than feet
on earth and the distance covered can be
measured for whatever purpose it serves.
There is conceit in such comparisons
as may be drawn. Somehow, the universe
is expected to be passive and form
patterns round the random actions I choose
to illustrate our love. For love it is,
which survives analysis. Dry language
does not denote a lack of passion on
my part. I merely seek to understand
how these connections are deemed romantic.
