once, you and i (a chapter, a story) were carving an exit. one hand on you, one hand for the axe that gets us through, in your hand the light that glows blue. once, you and i (a limerick, a pun) were pacing through graveyards. eulogies and obituaries dredge up around our ankles, our knees, our hips, but the brightness glows between our mouths. once, you and i (a boulder, a breakwater) were learning the shore, finding the inlets, gracing new ground. the sun rises and falls but between us, the light does not falter. once, you and i (a bet, a lifeline) stumbled separately, then found each other's hands.