He still thinks
she is after one thing;
She is after many,
of which what he thinks
is the least.
Sidetracks,
tangents,
mystical lights,
they all derail him, her,
sometimes;
He derails her,
sometimes;
But she does not stay,
is not thrown too far;
She stands back up,
Alone,
Reaches back,
trying to drag him
trying to keep him
from being sucked down
into the blended in,
dangerous, lying, deceitful,
entrapping quicksand.
He always looks back,
like maybe he forgot something,
maybe he didn't want to leave it
for her.
Tempted to leave him,
She thinks past herself,
thinks past her jealousy,
her own fears and doubts,
her selfishness,
and loves him.