Worn

I’ve worn you ten years now
like scuffed black boots
hand polished
shiny,
solid.

You’ve worn me
down at times,
rough at others,
always
better.

We’ve worn the world around,
spinning with it,
feeling the jerky
orbit
creak.

Tattered,
smattered,
rusted
smooth,
trudging against
teeming legions
hissing doubt
and inevitable percentages,
we’ve finally
worn
through
to
another
us.