The Stranger Thing

The stranger thing is, consciousness 
is probably eternal – though it may 
foster the fraternal less than war, 
it doesn’t really matter since the door to it 

is never shut: it is a serially independent And: 
 it doesn’t know from But. Things appear to end – 
but don’t. Conjunctions reassert themselves – 
emptinesses won’t. So when 

you offer me your hand, I’ll take it – 
and if you offer me your heart, and I 
proceed, without intending to, to break it – 
neither you nor I will ever quite forsake it: 

we aren’t going anywhere and neither 
is our love. Push will never come to shove. 
Sorrows have a shelf-life – they’re 
subsumed in, and consumed by, our tomorrows. 

There seems no reason not to be completely glad. 
Still, sometimes for the color 
of it, we experiment with sad.

.