The only object to achieve perfection
is a wheelbarrow.
Perfection is complete:
we both miss the mark,
marred by sorrow.
You are neurotic,
I, apathetic- we’ll blame the infinity
A wheelbarrow remains beyond me,
beyond you, and “us,”
hardly affected by a growing coat of rust.
Old implement, needs no improvement;
We-we are caught in progressive movement.
perfection is complete-
completion opposes change.
We change daily-adjust
shear off the past
damaged by sorrow.
Tool of Giza’s slave and England’s gardener:
a wheelbarrow lasts.
We are evanescent,
live between kisses:
the taste lingers-and the scent-
memory as long as the taste on our lips.