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 well-used 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.