My Love

My love, he refuses to wear a dark sweater as he goes to work in the yard;
He is stubborn, I know.

He will not listen to anyone, not even me.

My love has ideas of his own, some that he shares, and many that remain afloat in his imagination,

My love is secretive and dynamic,
He thinks a great deal, frets a lot,
My love is often doing things on his own,
He seems quiet and content
I see him not much, hear him very little, sometimes.

He speaks to me, I speak to him

We have eyes only for each other.

But we are like twin boats, floating in an endless expanse, tied and tethered to each other, a little, just that much,
so we don’t float off into oblivion,
out of each other’s sight.

He is charting his own path,
I am dreaming of mine.

I think we will keep each other in sight.

But he consults no one about his plans, not even me.

I do the same,

and so on we continue,

into the 20th year of our floating together.