Babe, you hiked two miles
over crunchy granite trails
at 6,200 feet, far above
our usual sea level walks,

good sport that you are,
knowing that I wanted to do
a little explore around this
mountain lake we love.

And later, you sacked out
on the bed tucked under
the old blue binkit we
bring with us for naps,

outgassing here and there
like the old dog used to.
You never mean to;
you have no idea,

but sweetums, I don’t mind.
I really don’t, having lost
you once to a fluttering
heart, and somehow

you returned to me
through I don’t know how
many miracles. I’ll take you
any way I can have you,

for as long as I can have you—
thankyouthankyouthankyou—
thirty-threeish years and
counting every blesséd day.