10. My caring is not amasssing, it cannot exist in a vacuum, pointless it drifts about in search of another cell with which to nestle, drifting and fading, fading in and out of being, dying, beyond care, the stuff of resolution that it bore, lost.

I spend another weekend outfitting anew for new stages in the same insane one-sided courtship, for further voyages farther out, greater distances for hailing notes to cross, an instinct-forced attenuation of ahoy. How I wish that I could have you with me day and night but how impossible this wish impossible because unchosen beside the radiant mental calm of the passenger watching the dock faces slide streamer-like past and away, observing the stopwatch sweep of a side street radiate from a child's hand waving a cap. Our ice floes will be separated in the confusion.