Posted on August 14, 2026 by Jenn Zatopek

TWO YEARS AGO

A man and a woman sit together in their respective houses.
They watch each other on Zoom, faces framed in light.
She twirls her curls while he asks about her writing,
her Zen practice, her psychedelic journeys.
He holds a beer in his hands, and she thinks, for courage?
Then she knows why when he says to her haltingly–
I don’t know when we’ll see each other again. 

Oh, the woman feels frantic inside, like falling in a dream.
I see her days later, watch the woman collapse on the carpet,
note how her lover holds her tenderly. See the man marry
his foreign lover and search for her face at last fall’s sesshin.
I hold the woman gently and whisper what I’ve learned
on this strange, circuitous path of love–
how we go on still and shine, like the morning moon at dawn.

Image / Two years ago on a bright morning walk, Japanese Gardens