Since I _made it_,
      I haven’t done much
      in the way of sitting still.

Which means,
      naturally,
      I haven’t done much

      in the way of rambling either.

The words kept having to wait
                   behind Ava,
                    dog parks,
                  muddy tires,
                 dinner plans,
       a little time with Mom,
  and Orca’s ongoing campaign
           to make Fort Worth

    understand her importance.

So here’s the catch-up—

Friday, Ava was fantastic,
        as usual…

        a usual I have to take care
        not to take for granted.

Saturday,
         Ava and I took Nero
         to an off-road park

         to get some mud on the tires.

Mission accomplished.

Spent the rest of the day
      cleaning the adventure
      back off again,
      which is how you know

      the fun was legitimate.

Sunday was the exhale:
       brunch,
       not much else.

After that:
      a little Oscar’s patio,
      tasty burgers,
      Mario Kart with Ava,

      the kind of easy evening
      that doesn’t announce itself as precious

      until it’s already gone.

Orca has been playing hard,
     sleeping harder,
     and accepting admiration
     with the grace of a small mayor

     who knows the votes are secure.

And then there’s Bubbles,
            Ava’s kitten,
       a boy (allegedly),
  approximately the size

              of a rumor.

The tiniest thing on earth,
    somehow carrying
    the only soul in Texas

    with enough guts to stand up to Orca.

Orca is amazed,
     humbled, even,
     not beaten, exactly—

     let’s not get dramatic—

     but spiritually introduced
     to the concept of consequences.

Bubbles has a hiss radius.

It’s small,
     because Bubbles is small.

It’s absolute,
     because Bubbles
     has apparently made peace

                    with death.

So Orca tiptoes through Ava’s apartment,
   giving the tiny beast his proper distance,
   all careful paws and wide eyes…

   as if the whole room
   has become a very delicate treaty.

This is not a bad lesson
           for a weekend
     spent away from you.

Every living thing
    has its radius.

Some are marked
     by hissing,
     some by quiet,
     and some by the way
     a thread goes a little thinner

     after feelings get too loud.

And through all of it,
       you were there—

       not _here_,
       but threaded through:

       texts,
       pictures,
       songs shared…

       like little handholds across the map.

Sometimes you sent it;
          sometimes I did—

          a sudden little flare-up
          that kept finding us
          in the middle of otherwise full days.

Sometimes it was
    “I miss you,”
    plain enough
    to do the job.

Sometimes it came heavier:
                   “madly,”
                 “so much,”
              “like crazy,”

          the same small sentence changing gravity
          depending on how hard the hour

          had leaned on it.

Separate, but not.

That’s one of our faces,
       the one that’s been
       with us since the beginning.

Not the only one,
    not the favorite one,
        but a very real one.

A way of giving the distance
  enough room
         not to hiss,

         while still staying close enough
         to remember who we are…

         when the room finally lets us
         reach for each other again.

Orca’s learning this
        from Bubbles.

I’m learning it
        from us.