The world will take its shape
and we will all float through it thinking
we somehow manifested our wins.
Aren’t we clever?

The losses we blame on the wrong place
at the wrong time—or the right place to ensure
we don’t grow too tall in our britches.
The ones we were given when we were 8.

We carry fear and love and a longing for
meaning and connection, not realizing we are
already entwined.

Our deepest desires are seen only by the moon
or the brazen stars that streak by to get a closer look.

Our thoughts are not who we are, they tickle and terrorize
us into movement and stillness—ever waiting for that
moment of grandeur. To throw their arms up in
celebration—See, I told you I could make her cry.

I just want to sit here and be ok with what is
and call it happiness with or without a witness
And come through the inevitable drama unscathed—as if
that’s the medicine for a gentle life.

[This came out today. It seems a little sad. I promise to share the fun stuff once I clear away the dust.]