If Euclid wrote
on the topic of forgiveness,
or love, for that matter,
I think he’d admit
that sometimes we approach
our heartache obliquely,
and yet oblique lines, too,
have a way of intersecting.
Even without right angles,
we come together again.

So here I set down my lines,
neither parallel nor perpendicular
to yours, and yet satisfied
as the geometer
that my lines will pierce yours.
So too the birds above earth’s
harsh elements fly, ignorant
of any proof
except that light
follows dark, their wild
intuition heedless
of any axiom except
their knowledge that
the earth’s axis returns,
each year, to spring.