And there it lies, arguably,
true togetherness: 
in the birth of a word,
the miraculous first
and the intentional ones that follow,
carefully knitted with your truth, 
and mine, 
your kindness, 
and mine, 
and their sheer necessity
as it’s revealed to us, only us, 
just before dawn, just after dusk, 
and entirely anew
after every single winter.
And if that’s where togetherness lies
in tenderness and fragility always,
then the mosses and hay beneath
are our willingness 
to stick around 
for a while.
To stick around 
for a while
and possibly a lifetime.