You asked if I believe we have free will.
I failed to say but feel compelled to write:
I may not mean to, but I love you still.
We didn’t know yet who would grab the bill
or whether you’d move back your morning flight.
You asked if I believe we have free will,
and we debated, over a Pinot spill,
rumors that quantum theory says we might.
I may not mean to, but I love you still.
Chance is the sergeant of an endless drill:
that’s what I choose to think. (But is that right,
you asked.) If I believe we have free will,
I’ll feel brave leaving, though I’ll stay until
I cave to instincts that I claim to fight.
I may not mean to. But I love you still,
and sometimes smile with an impromptu thrill
at what we did, at what was done, the night
you asked if I believe we have free will.
I may not mean to, but I love you—still.