Further Becomes A Habit

What a hill remains to be climbed! And thank Christ! Or so I think a few hours after midnight, stopping every few feet to enjoy joy, clouds muting the faroff sky, the dog staying close, her hind legs trembling. You go so far and then further becomes a habit. As my dead drunk uncles would say, "the seeker dissolves in cheap whiskey." Or in the very search itself, lit by faint moonlight and attended by old dogs who maybe don't need to travel anymore. I survived this much, might as well endure a little more. When you bring me coffee I can't stop staring at your shoulders. My broken heart reassembles every noon and sings a plaintive song called "I Wish I Knew A Plaintive Song." Division abounds until we perceive that within which it divides and then it doesn't. It was always thus - it just took me a while to see it.