Kokyu Ho

The believer and the skeptic said
they preferred not to hold hands in battle.

They once picked wildflowers together,
forded rivers,
climbed trees.
As they grew older,
arthritic kneed,
they separated.

The believer says they bickered;
the skeptic insists they fought.
Too proud to admit these untruths,
they grew apart.
"I keep you alive," smirked the brain.
"Isn't it the other way around?" inquired the heart.

The moment for reconciliation arrived suddenly:
the tingling hands of the one who drove them apart,
harnessing heat,
hovered.

The believer raced
The skeptic panicked
and finding themselves unexpectedly in the tight embrace
of fear,
they clutched each other's sweaty palms
and renewed their vows.