Today I’ve heard Led Zeppelin 
on the radio, incessantly, 

including D’ya Mak’er twice.
What does it mean? 

And today in the garden, 
a random Russian woman 

told me, there’s no such
thing as perfect in this life,

joining a long series of 
Russian female archetypes

that arc through my life 
story and give unsolicited

advice.  Maybe the point
patiently waiting for a sign

is that after a while one
gets bored and elects 

to just act.  It’s not like
love is a finite quantity;

where’s the sense in 
hedging bets given 

a pride’s capacity
for self-regeneraion? 

Just bet against the house,
double down on the kiss.