I can’t make enough to make it. I’m staying home. 
They once said goal!  
We can’t always gather this way but we do. 
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age.  
 
The lucky take the pain, live on then perish. More will, fudging abasement in clean restraint serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).