Some writers and physicists,
plying their trade in fiction and fantasy and quantum events,
craft their universes in stacks
or gardens of forking paths.
Each track an Earth of a different decision,
every way an infinite array of consequences.
On one of these Earths
(at least one),
our fingertips brush lightly against each other,
our breaths mix sweet and hot
amidst kisses and sighs
and know nothing of the vast spacetime that divides us here.