Welcome to Poetry Monday, and a small dose of normalcy before enduring the results of the elections tomorrow. Hopefully, you will have all exercised your plebiscite.
We like our numbers and measurements,
quantification against chaos,
hope in description as prediction,
so we count our years together
and smile at the compounding interest.
But that evolving whole may be
less than the sum of the parts that endure unchanged,
the quiet barnacle savagery of bonds
that disdain the slip of seconds into years,
the interlocking selves that remain constant,
constantly surprised by what changes
with the accumulation of time
while retaining their elemental stainless shine,
their secret mass and velocity counted in nameless units
meaning the difference
between collision, near miss,
and a stable binary orbit.