Or Your Own Destruction

It’s not a relationship
Between two people longing
As romantic lovers long—

Maybe both, usually one
More than the other, or one
More first, the other later.

Dyadic love’s as twisted
As the strands of DNA.
Autopsy it as you wish,

See for yourself. The body
Tangled in another life
Would be better understood

As tangled in too many.
There’s two if there is one, but
There’s no one. All the bodies

In the world, alive or dead
Couldn’t constitute the one.
It’s not a relationship

Between self and other self.
You can’t fix it with fresh selves.
Ever wonder how a storm

Would seem to conscious lightning?
You get your arc of anguish
In your rush to fuse the ground

With imbalanced atmospheres,
But what could you know of rain,
To say nothing of thunder?