It is never the easy choice. One thing or the other.
It is everything all at once. A total eclipse of the sun does not relieve the mutual attraction of the moon and the oceans.
The glass in the patio door is still cracked; spider-webbed outward from the center where the ax handle struck last winter.
Milk spoils in the back of the fridge as we admire the mums on the front porch; fall sun slanting through the porch rails as your hand idly traces my thigh.
A blue pickup idles in front of the house next door. Its driver picks through the remnants of the former occupant’s belongings strewn across the front lawn after eviction.
You head back inside and I follow; our own celestial mechanics at work.