without the tumble,
we would have kept walking
and missed the show the world put on for just us.

that little cove, nestled in Cambria,
where you bled into the pacific
and I carried your embarrassment across crunchy wet pebbles

two bodies always moving, running, thrashing at life
only an accident forcing stillness, observation and grace.
we strive to leave deep carves in the fabric of this world.
whether from pride, ambition or duty, I know not.
your presence makes me strive and double my effort,
while reminding me that the desire to
“prove oneself” is born of a lie —
a belief that something is, as yet, not right.

I yearn to accomplish much, to live well, but you demonstrate how.
the balance you live, is the one that I seek;
and though my mind, too, whips at moments,
guilty that I seek play,
when my work is unfinished;
bashful that my noble motives
might merely be masks for personal aggrandizement;
your whispered words remind me
that life is wonderful now
that the future is not where all the grace is stored
and that love is not like a jar of peanut butter
in limited supply,
to be doled out carefully and withheld from most.
no, it is a habit
that improves with practice
and is broadened, not diluted,
when poured upon the friend, the stranger, the task.