Think of all I miss,
locked into this box of
my worries, lusts, and mistaken identities
I could count in grains of sands,
and only fill the hourglass halfway.
Imagine the acres of faces
with open, waiting eyes,
voices raised in song,
the things which are no-things,
that stretch over the world so thin
I feel them less on my skin than snowflakes.
As they run me through
clean as an sharpened arrow
aimed at the space between my eyebrows,
they fill the gaps in the atoms,
if I’ll admit they are there.
But to let them permeate
the fortress around my thoughts
– that spilling hourglass –
guarded by the terror of what might be stolen,
I have to fight back the fight in me,
learn to walk with back bent forward
and twist heart open to the sky
at the same time.
How can my mind puzzle out the sense?
protecting as it does an empty safe,
so scared to find solace in invisible snow.
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