the
conviction of its sole and soul and drive, if giggling over tears, lord of
sorrows, alone in mischief, surrounded by comforts
maps
achieving distraction, geography spelling emptiness, caged but free, looking at
pits and seas and bottomless anxieties
as
filled with hopes, never as emphatic as others, so casual in time.
when
receiving everything, when will one say he is going too far?
the
terror of the skies, left all alone, raining to possess a shared interest. the
box as it closes. the gift as it opens. the love and obligation and the want
for responsibility. the need for a person, in one’s mirror, one with sincerity,
looking back. to cup a palm, to feel elated, to nurture the firstborn.
years
satiated. friends and family—schools and yoga—hearts and pillows.
to
exist as never it was different, to grow into ink and unity and age.
to
become everything.
the
last to go to sleep. the child needing lemon tea. the colds the flus the wisdom
teeth.
all
in all, the life we hoped for, the love we have.
