Beating
Our proximal hearts
with desires fleeting
As the central pulses into radial
Our family lines
With purpose communal
As the new vine grows on ancient stalks
Our living here
always perched on edge becoming
like the idea of tomorrow
as if our aliveness
depended upon movement
Of time or space,
when neither speaks
to my sensation of being with you
Of being here now, together
A part of it all—
in the making of the all of it
As if the pacemaker cells of my heart
ever question their desire to beat
As if the vertebrae bones of my spine
ever wonder their collective purpose to reach