Pied Beauty

A man and a woman hesitate
between continuous and continual.
In morning they bear likeness
to the heart's beating and
at night to the kitchen light switch.

A man and a woman are now
open to it but close, intermittently.
A man and a woman gather
dust, more dust from the making
and bits of banana bread, too,

and half moons of fingernails, too,
peeled away when the coffee brews.
A man's and a woman's summers
return continually: trellis
tomato bloom, the yes no,

the forgiveness she feels from pulling
weeds. Perhaps there's no reason
to decide or no reason to make
a decision. The man and woman
are continual, continuously

locking horns, dust on their
feet, tomatoes stewing until
the end of time, or later, or
sooner, or a man and a woman
stop being just a man and just

a woman, and bruise out into eternity.