Call entering love a falling,
a bungee jump off a bridge in Whistler,
heart between your teeth.
Think walk in the park. Somewhere
someone falls again and walks away.
Say staying in love is a marathon,
a musical movement up Kilimanjaro,
lungs tight as almonds. An armless
salmon fights its way upstream.
But call our love a stationary thing
draped in afghans, a sign above us
reading you are here.