Odds

The thought of mutual concern, much less attraction, would be odd,

But chances are best at times that make you think “what are the odds?”

Negotiations, going from us two to us, start far apart and plod.

Time often makes a fizzle, like planting fireworks in sod,

and apart by the hour-teeth of that time we are sawed.

I can't blame unknowing – absent our will, or present for God's –

But, blameless and loveless, I still see you and feel a clod,

Pure, white logic passes through my prism mind thus flawed.